VICE VERSA
by later2nite
Summary: Justin and Daphne are on the brink of becoming parents when Brian enters the picture. An angst-free little AU, comprised of equal parts canon and non-canon. How many twists can you spot, accounting for the title?
1. Chapter 1

VICE VERSA - CHAPTER ONE

"I need to get fucked. I've figured out what my problem is, and I need to get fucked." Quietly stating the obvious, Justin inhales deeply on his Marlboro.

Daphne contorts one side of her face and raises an eyebrow, waiting for the rest.

"I couldn't even sketch a simple still life yesterday. I've been bottled up for a week. If I got fucked, it would unblock me. You know what I mean?"

She reaches for his cigarette out of habit. "I guess . . . but, um . . . who?"

"That's just it. Tyler doesn't fit the bill. Neither does Jake. I need someone who . . . who is . . ."

"Perfect for you? Good luck with that," she laughs, trying again for the cigarette. "Where do you even begin to look?"

"I'm not giving you this cigarette, Daph." Justin snuffs the butt into the ashtray that Mrs. Chanders keeps out on the back deck for him. "You know it's not good for the baby if you smoke. You've made it eight and a half months. You can go a little longer."

Daphne sighs audibly. "I know. You're gonna be a great dad, Justin."

"I'd be a better one if I could just get fucked."

"Oh, shit!" she gasps, bolting out of her lawn chair. "I'm gonna throw up!" Making a beeline through the house up to her bedroom and adjoining bathroom - with Justin hot on her heels - she arrives just in time to hunch over the toilet before losing her dinner.

Gently holding her hair back out of the way, he offers moral support, wishing he could do more. "You shouldn't still be getting sick like this," he says, dousing a facecloth with cool water and handing it to her.

"Yeah, well, you tell that to IT!" Daphne points to her expanded belly, laying the blame squarely on the source.

Taking her hand, Justin leads her back into her bedroom. "Come on. Let's sit in your beanbag chair. Remember when we used to solve the world's problems in that thing after school?" He guides her down onto their trusty old friend, sinking in beside her.

"We were a lot smaller then. I was, at least."

"We still fit. Look." Leaning against her, shoulder to shoulder, Justin places an open hand on her tummy in hopes of feeling the baby kick. "Seriously, Daph," he brings up the needing to get fucked thing again. "I've wanted to check out Liberty Avenue for a long time. It's like there's this whole other world going on down there. When we watch the Pride parade on TV every year, it makes me want to see it firsthand."

Daphne's eyes get as round as saucers. "You sure about this? Some of the guys in those parades seem really kooky. Aren't you scared?"

"A little. But I'll never forget the way you looked when you waltzed into my room that morning after we did it. You were glowing, Daph . . . all over. You were somehow . . . different." Justin makes small circles with his hand and then moves it to the other side of her tummy. "I want to feel like that."

"But . . . when?"

"Tonight," he blurts out, improvising on the spot. "I was thinking, maybe after your queasiness settles down you could give me a ride. I'll take the bus back. Um, just leave your window open, and I'll climb up to the tree house and in from there. What do you think?"

"Yeah, we can do that . . . if you're sure. Justin, this is a big step."

"I'm ready," he smiles confidently. "It's time for me to get fucked. Oh! There it is! The baby kicked!"

Daphne giggles, grasping Justin's hand with both of hers. "Help me up. Let's stop at Baskin Robbins for ice cream cones on the way!"

. . .

His face is the most beautiful thing Brian's ever seen, at least during the past hour. Beautiful enough, in fact, to (minimum) require up close and personal scrutiny and possibly (best case scenario) total redirection of the evening's plans. Sunshine colored hair, cropped closely into the private school cut, is one of the first details to capture his imagination when he leaves Michael and the guys out in front of Babylon, crossing the street to get a better look. With the unmistakable scent of fresh meat drawing him near, he thirstily drinks in soulful eyes, flawless skin, and a mouth that begs to be kissed. "Where're you headed?"

"No place special."

"I can change that." Brian's lips fold inward against each other, his richly expressive eyes growing wide with invitation. He doesn't look twenty-nine. Tall and thin, magnificently wrapped in a tight black tee shirt and jeans, he obviously works out.

Gazing upward into the stunning visage before him, the sunshine-headed boy beholds perfection, silently accepting the offer. The fact that Brian's never seen him before is the deal sealer. Brian always gets the hottest guys - once.

"Come on, Brian!" Michael yells out to him from the other side of the street. "We're going!"

If there's one thing in all the world Michael absolutely loathes, it's being ignored by Brian.

. . .

"Your friends look pretty upset. You just gonna leave them there? Brian, is it?"

Brian's Jeep lurches forward when he throws it into gear, jarring his new friend beside him. "Yes, it's Brian. Brian Kinney. And you are?"

"Justin Taylor."

"Well, Justin Taylor, I can see those guys any time. Right now, I'd rather see you." Glancing over at Justin, Brian's lips roll together again and then part into a magical smile, defined by his crooked upper left incisor. "You wanna come home with me, don't you?"

Justin returns the smile with megawattage of his own, Brian rapidly attaining divine status in his mind. "I'm going with you."

"Good."

"Good."

. . .

The elegantly appointed sixth floor loft is not unappreciated by Justin. Coming from a well-heeled family and growing up in a sprawling suburban home, he knows good taste when he sees it. He thinks it's the ideal place in which to lose his virginity - not that location plays any significant role. He'd been certain the instant he'd seen into the eyes of the virtual Adonis that he'd found what he'd been looking for. He would have followed him anywhere, the attraction being immediate and intense.

Now he finds himself staring at a leggy, unclad god with outstretched arms, who wants to know if he's coming or going. Going is definitely out of the question. The other option seems to be the only choice.

Standing motionless in the center of his commodious loft, Brian waits for the beautiful boy in the trance to come to him. It works like a charm. As if under a spell, Justin floats toward him, their eyes drawing them together with magnetic power. He keeps just inches away from the first kiss until anticipation reaches fever pitch, Justin's mouth finding its way to his like a homing device. When he finally bends, softly sliding his lips across the side of the youthful, pristine neck, rapture ensues. For both of them. Pressing his mouth onto the sweet, full lips that want him so badly, Brian separates from them ever so briefly before doing it again. He's not going slowly because the fledgling's never been kissed. He's going slowly because that's how he kisses. It's one of his greatest pleasures.

Justin senses himself being taken over by a previously dormant force of nature that's suddenly barreling out of control. It's the most natural move he's ever made when his arms unstoppably raise to wind around Brian's neck. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he's doing everything right. Brian's the reason he was put on this earth. Brian's the reason he's alive.

"So, what do you like to do?" that justification for existence asks, having made out with young Hunkalicious all the way to the bedroom while simultaneously disrobing him, pulling him down onto his enormous bed.

"Do? I don't know. Watch TV . . . play Tomb Raider . . ."

Brian can't help but laugh. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen, next month."

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Um, well, not exactly."

"Maybe I should take you back to where I found you. Your mom's probably worried sick about you."

Justin's cock is what's worried sick - worried sick that it won't get any attention. And then there's his virgin asshole, still forlornly and unacceptably empty. Coiling his arms around Brian's neck, Justin pushes his tongue into his mouth. He's always prided himself on being a quick study. He feels the response in Brian's body when it rolls on top of him, tangling its long limbs together with his. Arching his back sensually, Justin grinds his quickly filling dick into Brian's.

"Put your legs up on my shoulders," Brian's velvety voice hums. "That's it. Relax." Incapable of being fake, the tender consideration he displays is truly touching. He takes his time with preparation, lubing and carefully fingering Justin's warm, taut hole. Coaxing it open, his own pre-come bubbles out of his slit. Brian plucks a condom from the bowl on his nightstand, tearing the packet open with his teeth. "Here," he tells Justin. "Slip it on my dick."

Face-to-face first time - it's his gift to the boy, just for being so beautiful. Safely ensheathed, the swelled head of Brian's impossibly long cock lies heavily against Justin's asshole. Gingerly, he inches inside, beginning a gentle friction. "I want you to always remember this," he croons between strokes, "so that no matter who you're ever with, I'll always be there."

Welcoming the fiery fullness inside, Justin exhales a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. The initially painful stretch becomes pleasurable when the tip of Brian's cock jabs into his prostate gland over and over. Rapidly discovering an itch only Brian can scratch, something primal demands that his arms impatiently yank the man's sweat-glistened body down onto his own. Don't stop! Please, don't ever stop! The words whirl round and round in Justin's head when Brian's pace speeds up, his dick soon exploding with electrifying jolts. Spurts of hot come hit his chest as his ass involuntarily clenches in spasms.

"Christ! Aahh, fuck!" Brian shouts, pumping one last time into the vise grip he's been fucking. Tensing every muscle in his body, he shoots his load into the condom. "Jesus!" He crumples down onto Justin. "You're so fucking tight!"

Instinctively, a triumphant Justin takes this as the compliment it's meant to be, infatuation setting in without delay. He's vaguely aware of Brian easing out of him and tossing the condom into the ashtray beside the bed. Curling up against him in an utterly sated state, he drifts peacefully to sleep.

. . .

Dawn arrives much too soon, barging into Brian's bedroom like an unwanted visitor. Sleepily reaching out to squash the annoying six a.m. electronic beep, he feels something amiss. Moments later, when he's fully conscious, his eyelids peel open to focus on one hell of a good looking youngster in his bed with him, complete with an accompanying seventeen-year-old arm resting comfortably across his back. No, he's not still dreaming Brian quickly realizes. Yes, this is highly unusual he readily concedes. His policy after entertaining is to kick the guest out and wake up alone. The guest is about to be escorted off of Cloud Nine. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"You said I could stay."

Struggling to concentrate on the previous evening, Brian fuzzily recalls key elements. "Right. Your mom thinks you're at a friend's." Recreational drugs are a bitch the next morning. The fog should start to lift soon. "What's your name again?"

"Justin." Justin's infatuation with Brian is bigger than his disappointment. "Can I take a shower?"

"Yeah. It's through there." Brian points in the general direction of the bathroom. "I think," he adds, stumbling out of bed toward the coffee maker. Shit! No coffee! That's what happens when you don't flip the button the night before. "Fuck this shit!" he curses, fumbling with the invariably stuck-together filters. Looks like no coffee until after his shower. Shower . . . hmmm . . .

Strolling into his large designer bathroom, feasting his eyes on the unbelievably beautiful mass of milky white nakedness standing in his shower, Brian's mind distortion begins to fade. "One more time, your name?" he inquires politely, joining Blondie under the soothing spray. This might shape up into a good morning after all.

"Justin."

That smile again, Brian thinks, squeezing a dollop of expensive French shampoo into his palm. That blinding smile. "Justin," he rolls the name off his tongue. Breaking into a dazzling smile of his own, his brain has started to hurt a whole lot less.

"Mmmm," Justin moans, Brian massaging his scalp with the shampoo. "That feels really good. You have a really nice place here. I'm really glad you found me under that streetlight last night. I really-"

"Fuck!" Brian interrupts. "How many times can you say 'really' in five seconds?" His brain hurt threatens to make a comeback . . . big-time. It's unfathomable to him that they've been in the shower together five whole minutes and all they've done is talk. Ready to do more than talk, he turns Justin around with a firm, guiding hand to his shoulder.

His face smushed against the cold, wet glass, the sensation of being prepared by Brian's long, soapy fingers under the steady pelt of hot water sends Justin effectively out of his mind.

Fucking the youngest, tightest, most curvaceous ass Brian's ever been in catapults him in the same direction.

. . .

"When can I see you again?" Justin's not about to walk away from Brian's Jeep until he's certain there'll be a next time. Lingering in front of St. James Academy with a gathering crowd of his gawking classmates looking on, the only thing that matters to him is being with Brian again.

The fashion model-esque ad executive unconsciously folds the collar of Justin's denim jacket down. "You can see me right now," he wisecracks, a hint of a smile forming on his lips. Brian does more for a good suit than any ad campaign ever could. The high school girls checking him out see a dashing figure talking to Justin.

"I mean later . . . tonight!" Justin craves the taste of Brian's tongue in his mouth again.

"Who knows where I'll be . . . later tonight."

"Please?" Justin begs, completely transfixed. He's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

The hint of Brian's smile grows when he gets what's going on. He's not kidding when he says, "I'll see you in your dreams."

Justin's face reveals his sudden dejection when he gets what's going on. He was merely a one-night stand. Brian has no inclinations of ever seeing him again. Left stranded in the middle of the street, he watches the Jeep and its occupants fade away, marooning him with nothing more than a vivid memory. How can the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to him be driving away?

"Where have you been? You said you were going to climb back in through the window." Daphne, Justin's best friend since fifth grade, had worried about him all night. "Your mom called. I didn't know what to tell her."

In all actuality, 'best friend' doesn't begin to cover it. What do you call a friend for whom you'd do absolutely anything? The kind of friend who isn't even fazed when you confide your proclivity to lurk in the showers after P.E. to scope out cock because - and you've never breathed a word of this to another living soul - you think you may be, might be, possibly . . . GAY? The kind of friend who isn't embarrassed in the slightest when she requests the presence of your dick into her vagina because, well, she needs to know what it's all about, and who better to introduce her to such matters?

Daphne hands Justin his backpack and explains how she'd feebly told his mom he was still asleep, neither of their mothers ever suspecting, until receiving confirmation seven months prior, that harmless sleepovers between best friends since fifth grade (isn't it cute?) could ever result in - whoops!

"I just saw the face of God." Justin looks fondly down the street where God just drove away. "His name is Brian Kinney."

"Huh?"

"I'll tell you about it later. How're you feeling? Is the morning sickness still kicking your ass?" Justin holds St. James Academy's massive front door open for Daphne to walk through, quickly following her in.

"It's hell. I can't believe women willfully put themselves through this." Snaking her arm around Justin's waist, she offers up her own backpack with her other hand when he reaches for it.

"My little incubator," he teases, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Excuse me? Incubate this!" She swats Justin's face away from hers, but not before kissing his lips in sworn solidarity. The life inside her quickens as if to acknowledge its daddy, Daphne mentally calming herself yet again with the image of she and Justin ensconced in their own apartment, raising their offspring together.

Hey! It could happen! Justin promised her! As soon as they turn eighteen, which will be within two weeks of each other and exactly one week and three weeks after graduation, respectively, they'll move in together, courtesy of the sizable inheritance left to him by his alcoholic grandmother.

"I thought that was in a trust fund you couldn't touch!" she'd disputed, still pretty much in shock over the plastic test strip in her hand, its two blue lines glaring up at her.

"I gain full access to it on my eighteenth birthday. Daphne, we can do this!"

His beaming face had been difficult to dismiss. 'Kill Me Now' had gradually given way to 'We're Gonna Be Parents' at his loving insistence, every argument she'd put forth to the contrary having been met with vehement resistance by her cohort in crime.

"Daphne." Justin had taken her face in his hands. "I'll always love you. You know that, right?"

She remembers how she'd nodded, feeling herself acquiesce.

"I'll take care of you," he'd waxed poetic. "And the baby. You'll never have to worry."

I'm counting on you, Justin, Daphne thinks to herself for the umpteenth time since discovering their experimentation had yielded a third, innocent party, striding beside him toward Homeroom.

Justin ushers his baby mama in just as the final bell rings, unable to focus on much beyond the fact that he still feels Brian's huge cock up his ass and tastes Brian's sweet mouth on his tongue. Wait till Daph hears this! he chuckles inwardly, setting her backpack under her desk before taking the one in front of her. He doesn't know how he'll keep it in until lunch.

"Hey, Taylor!" Chris Hobbs yells from two rows over. "Get any last night?"

Daphne pulls her long sweater tightly around her midsection, snickers from random students filling the air.

"Fuck, yeah!" Justin bellows, trademark smile firmly in place.

The snickers turn into lurid laughs, emanating from the likes of stupid teenaged girls. If only these walls could talk.

. . .

The men in the Jeep drive away from Brian's trick's high school. "I'll drop you off at the Big Q," Brian says to Michael, adjusting his designer sunglasses and glancing into the rearview mirror to assess his cool factor.

"Thank fuck he's finally gone!" Michael's been outwardly irked with Brian's boy toy from the get-go, something about the glint in Brian's eyes when he first saw the kid not setting right with him. Brian's oldest and dearest friend has watched him chase - and catch - every hot guy in Pittsburgh since they were fourteen years old, always hoping he'd be next.

"He almost wore me out."

. . .

"I come all the way down here to see him, and he doesn't want anything to do with me."

"The thing you have to know about Brian is that he doesn't do boyfriends." Michael's practical advice is the voice of experience talking, he and Justin sitting at the counter in the Liberty Diner, chowing down on bacon cheeseburgers. He'd taken advantage of the perfect opportunity to tie up loose ends once and for all when Brian had set out on his nightly hunting trip, Justin returning the following night to the place where Brian had found him a veritable given. Hauling the kid off with the lure of greasy diner food and an agenda that will hopefully have him hightailing it back to where he came from, pronto, he does his best to enlighten him.

"You weren't there with us last night. You don't know what we did . . . the way he kissed me . . ."

Michael's perturbed that Brian makes the messes and he cleans them up. He's thinking of charging extra for babysitting. "Listen. Brian's fucking selfish and doesn't care about anyone but himself. If I were you, I'd just forget him." There. It's out in the open, and he's not lying about any of it. He pictures Justin sailing back to the suburbs to dream about the inconsiderate cad who took his virginity, enabling himself to lust over Brian with no competition.

Great advice, Debbie thinks, not that she's eavesdropping or anything. Too bad you can't take it yourself. Slinging hash at the Liberty Diner keeps her up on all the latest drama.

Michael and Justin finish eating, pay, and walk out of the diner. Michael would like to drive him far, far away. "Do you need a ride?"

"No, thanks. I borrowed a friend's car."

"What? You don't have a little Beemer of your own?" He tries to keep the snark out of his tone. Well, most of it anyway.

Grinning broadly, Justin ignores the dig from Brian's best friend. "I'm working on it," he laughs, calculating the days until his birthday in his head. He receives one last precious gem from Michael before heading off toward Daphne's car.

"And don't go looking for him either. It'll just make things worse." Michael only hopes Justin will take heed. If he never sees the little fucker again, it'll be too soon.

Justin drives straight to Brian's loft.

. . .

"Leave him alone. He's alright. In fact, he's kind of sweet." Brian can't understand why Michael's so upset.

"Look at him. Following us around. He's like our teen stalker or something." Michael had been banking on Justin doing a disappearing act after the little chat he'd had with him the previous night, but . . . no such luck. There he is, all blond and smiling at the end of the bar, eyeing Brian like a hawk. "Fuck," Michael mutters. "We can't even unwind in Woody's without the pesky gnat lurking in the shadows."

Brian's on to the next subject, namely, evaluating the hotness of his next fuck. The guy in the shiny shirt across the room, currently giving him the eye, will do nicely. "Well, I know who I'll be doing tonight, Mikey. How about you? See anybody you like?" Tipping his beer bottle to his lips, he drains the last third of its contents in one long swig.

"No, Brian. I can't just give some guy the secret sign, knowing he'll be sucking me off in a matter of minutes."

"What's up with you?" Brian pulls a couple of bills out of his wallet, throwing them onto the bar. "Come on. He's leaving."

Michael stifles the protest forming in his gut. He can't remember a time when he hasn't been Brian's one-man audience for the nightly pick up show. Oh, yeah. There'd been that one three-day stretch four years earlier when he'd been home with the flu. Following Brian out of Woody's, he admits to himself that he really doesn't have anything better to do anyway. "Let's go to Babylon," he suggests, all traces of hostility vanished just as rapidly as they'd surfaced. "I think Ted and Emmett said they were going tonight."

"Because we all know I go there to fraternize with you boys." Brian walks faster, he and Michael catching Shiny Shirt Guy as he approaches Babylon's entrance. "This won't take long," he says, grabbing a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

. . .

Sighting his target on the dance floor, Brian sidles up to him, whispers in his ear once, and it's a done deal.

Michael takes it all in from the sidelines - yet again. Let the show begin.

Justin hadn't been far behind Brian and Michael on the short walk to the club. From his vantage point, everything is crystal clear. The St. James Academy honor student doesn't need a road map. One guy after another, an endless stream of meaningless fucks, is Brian's M.O.

"I don't believe in love. I believe in fucking," he'd flat out said the previous night when Justin had driven to his loft in search of a repeat performance, turning him away at the door after explaining in no uncertain terms that it would never happen.

Glaring out onto Babylon's dance floor, Justin observes the Don Juan of Liberty Avenue hold court. Apparently, Shiny Shirt Guy won't be enough to satisfy him. He stares in disbelief as Brian attracts a second trick, who promptly dances himself right over in front of him. For Michael, this is a new twist in viewing the 'Brian's Nightly Prey' show. For Justin, it's suffocating. He can feel his throat closing up.

"You're not exactly a troll, you know," Daphne had quipped when Justin bitterly complained to her about Brian's colossal rudeness. "You can get any guy you want. You should pick up the hottest guy you can find while that cocksucker watches. Make him insanely jealous."

Justin had roared with laughter at the thought. "He won't even care. He's had me. I'm not a challenge anymore," he'd told her.

Now he thinks that plan doesn't sound half bad. Without much forethought, he finds himself inching toward the dance floor, auto pilot seeming to take over. Navigating his way toward the cozy little threesome, Justin removes his shirt along the way and casually tosses it onto the nearest table, the glitter raining down from the rafters clinging to his bare upper body. One thing he's always been good at is dancing. Feeling right at home among the throng of half-dressed boys and men, he stops about six feet away from the ménage a trois to be and shakes his ass in time to the thumping beat, eyes intentionally cast off into the distance.

Brian doesn't notice him at first, preoccupied with his impending banquet. Within minutes, though, Justin attracts the attention of every guy around him, all eyes trained on the beautiful newcomer - who lives to attract the eyes of only one guy.

What happens next absolutely astounds them both, the fascinating new boy proving himself impossible to ignore. When first one and then the other of Brian's tricks gravitates toward Justin, he becomes sandwiched between Hot and Hotter, who just can't stop themselves from handling the merchandise. The one behind him keeps running his hands up and down his arms, and the one facing him finds his smooth, pale, teenaged chest captivating as they do the dance of the terminally touchy-feely.

Not losing his cool, it doesn't bother Brian at all that his two handpicked trophies prefer Justin. Glancing at them with their hands all over his boy, he silently bids them farewell. He knows something they don't know.

Justin just keeps dancing. His scheme lacks an ending.

Fortunately, Brian's specialty is manipulating every situation into the outcome he wants it to have. He revels at the idea of how easy it's going to be. You two clowns think he wants you? he muses to himself. Watch this! His arms start up above their heads, slowly working down between each one of them and Justin, both tricks taking their cue to retreat when he repels them backward out of his way and steps in front of his new dance partner. Bodies tantalizingly close together and eyes sentiently locked, they carry on a private, unspoken conversation. It's me you want, right? Brian confidently projects.

You're all I dream about, Justin's face confirms.

The chemistry between the new partnership is undeniable as they do the dance of the terminally intrigued. Brian places his hands firmly on Justin's hips while Justin's arms weave their way up around his neck, their crotches pressing together in heavenly harmony. His face aglow with the promise of things to come, Brian hungrily loses himself in his new favorite pastime: necking with Justin Taylor.

Eyes boring down on the spectacle from Babylon's catwalk, the gnarling in the pit of Michael's stomach expands by the minute. He knows his best friend. He knows Brian's dimples don't appear on his gorgeous face unless he's truly happy. Or excited. Or both. Michael can tell this isn't Brian's usual style of setting up his evening, and he realizes his attempt to eliminate the little intruder has failed miserably. Where did this fucking kid come from? he wonders, watching any glimmer of hope he'd ever had with Brian slowly disintegrate before his very eyes. Who would have thought this teenager could have lured the Great God Kinney back a second time?

Sparkling with fallen glitter, a white-hot heat sizzles from Brian and Justin down on the dance floor, Michael fleeing the club in dismay.

. . .

"Mmm." Brian devours Justin's voluptuous lips and savory tongue in an all-out endeavor to swallow him whole: face-first. Taking his prize home with him again, he practically pins him into the corner of the open-slatted lift as it ascends the six stories to his lair, grinding his body against Justin's and gathering him into a roving-handed embrace. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you, just so you know," he clarifies his immediate plans.

"Please," Justin purrs into Brian's mouth by way of an answer, Brian's kisses slathering his face and the sensitive place on the side of his neck. Prying themselves out of the elevator when it reaches the top floor of the building, they grope and nip at each other wildly.

"Get naked," Brian pants, unlocking the loft. Like Justin has to be told. A trail of clothing, dropped piece by piece from both of them, forms from the heavy industrial door to the bedroom. Nodding for Justin to make himself at home on the bed, Brian takes a detour into the bathroom for a quick piss and, strangely, a swish of mouthwash. No other trick gets such consideration, he thinks to himself, yet he's compelled to return to his bed with a minty fresh mouth.

Stepping out of the bathroom, a visually breathtaking sight awaits him. Kneeling in the center of the bed, cock full and pointing skyward, Justin's arms reach out toward him, a pleasing, unfamiliar sensation making its way through Brian's brain. Such a simple gesture. Why should it affect him so? No time to analyze, though. The only thought he acts on is the direct command his body signals: Attack!

Nothing short of a bundle of urgent need, Justin draws Brian to himself like a moth to a flame. Walking into his beckoning arms, Brian kneels in front of him and resumes his attempt at face swallowing, their gnashing cocks leaking in unison.

"Have you ever been sucked?" Brian's voice is a throaty whisper as he drops his hand between them, clamping his fist around Justin's thick shaft.

"Oh, my G . . . aaahhh!" Justin cries, the beading moisture dripping from his dick massaged around the head of it by the pad of Brian's thumb.

"Lie down. I'm going to show you what I like." Helping him onto a pile of pillows, Brian tongues the tip of his cock, licking the pre-come out of his slit. Taking it all the way down his throat, his lips hermetically seal around Justin's dick and suck vigorously.

Justin writhes under Brian, unable to stop himself. When he feels his come boiling in his balls, he warns of its inevitable escape with loud moans of pleasure, soon splashing a fountain into Brian's mouth. Lost somewhere in the stratosphere, his chest heaves his breath in and out, Brian drinking his warm liquid with long swallows and prolonging his orgasm.

Slowly crawling up toward his face, Brian feeds Justin a mouthful of come off of his tongue. "Your first blow job," he utters with a broad grin, dimples fully intact.

For all his naiveté, Justin doesn't mistake the pride in Brian's voice. "I can see why you like that," he whispers, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "Are you gonna fuck me now?"

"Hell, yes!" Brian replies quickly, yet curiously, he's in no hurry to free himself from Justin's embrace. Nestled snugly in the arms of his boy, he feels incredibly comfortable. What the fuck are you doing? he chastises himself inwardly. Get up. Roll him over. Fuck him all night long. Finally relieved to find himself scooting over just enough to nudge Justin onto his stomach, he rises to his knees beside him. "Open up," he urges, sliding two fingers between Justin's lips. "Make them wet."

Groaning softly, Justin licks each one. "Fuck me," he begs, rocking backward when Brian separates his ass cheeks.

"I will, but I want you ready for me." Brian works the tip of a wet finger inside. Bending to kiss his back, he feels the muscles around Justin's asshole relaxing.

Justin, hard and dripping again, smashes his cock into the mattress.

"Stop that," Brian warns. "I want you to come with me inside you."

"I can't do that until you start fucking me," Justin hisses.

Brian rolls a condom down the length of his shaft, laughing softly. "You're so fucking hot," tumbles out unchecked. "I'm not gonna last." Literally not believing what he's just said, he wonders what the fuck is wrong with himself, noting that the question's come up more than once during the past half hour. But when Justin rears backward into his cock, he glides inside his tight little hole and everything's instantly right with the world. Fucking Justin is all that matters. Fucking Justin is all that will ever matter, Brian suspects.

Panting with desire, Justin can't get enough of Brian's cock ramming into his prostate. "Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!" he chants to the rhythm of his thrusts, coming on the sheets in a matter of minutes.

Pounding into his ass one last time, Brian pulls out and quickly removes the condom, long, hot strings of come shooting out onto Justin's back. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he shouts, his orgasm shuddering through his body.

"I came all over your bed," Justin whispers sheepishly between kisses when Brian lies back down with him.

"I came all over you," Brian replies somewhat possessively. He doesn't remember ever marking a trick before. Grinning madly, the sound of an unfamiliar ring tone interrupts his fantasy of what he'd like to do to Justin next.

"That's my phone," Justin mumbles, rolling away to find it.

"Don't answer it."

Already out of bed, Justin retrieves his jeans from the bedroom steps, rummaging through the pockets. "I have to. It might be important."

"What could be more important than my- ?"

"Hello? Mrs. Chanders?"

Curtly cut off, Brian has no choice but to listen to the one-sided conversation. He feels slightly affronted until it becomes clear there's some sort of emergency in Justin's life.

"You're at the hospital now? Is Daphne all right?" Justin retraces his steps through the loft, picking up the rest of his clothes. Dressing himself with one hand, he listens first and then hurriedly resumes talking. "No, that's okay. It'll be faster if I take a cab. Have my mom stay there with you and Daphne."

Brian's disappointed to see Justin's spectacular ass disappearing into his briefs. Gathering his own jeans and shirt from the floor, he stands near him. "I'll drive you," he mouths, redressing as well.

Smiling up at Brian, relief floods through Justin's senses. "I'm at a friend's," he explains to Mrs. Chanders. "He'll give me a ride. Tell Daphne I'll be there in twenty minutes. I know she's counting on me. Yes . . . Okay . . . Bye." He responds to the inquisitive look on Brian's face by rising on tiptoe, throwing a speedy kiss onto his lips. "I'll catch you up in the car! Run!"

. . .

"I'm driving as fast as I can. Try to calm the fuck down." Brian appreciates Justin's need for speed, but, by the same token, doesn't want to wake up dead.

"I know. It's just that I'm kinda freaking out here." Justin lights a cigarette with visibly shaky hands. "I can't believe it's finally happening. I'm gonna be a father! Shit! I need some cigars to pass out!"

Brian does a double take in Justin's direction, rubbing the palm of his hand over his chin. "You . . . you're gonna be a father?" he chokes out. "How in the fuck is that even possible?"

"You mean you were absent from Health class the day they covered reproduction?" Justin's hands wave around crazily. "Well, when the male-"

"Smartass," Brian laughs. "I just never would have pegged you for a breeder, what with you begging me to fuck you and all. Oh, and I seem to recall the complete bliss on your face not more than an hour ago when your dick was crammed down my throat." He stares at Justin quizzically for as long as he can before he starts to worry about that waking up dead thing again. Concentrating on the road in front of him, Brian's all ears when he lays it out.

"It's Daphne. We've been best friends since we were like ten. All the girls in our senior class have been ragging on her for a long time about still being a virgin, and she just got tired of it." Justin reaches for his second cigarette in five minutes, Brian still listening with keen interest. "She held out on her boyfriend all last year because she was scared. At the end of last summer she was ready, but she'd broken up with him by then. She pleaded with me for weeks, finally convincing me to be her first time because she said I was the only guy she wouldn't be afraid with."

"So . . . you're a breeder with closeted homo tendencies?" Brian ventures, just to get the facts straight.

"Shit, no!" Justin gasps.

The light bulb goes on in Brian's head a few minutes later. "I get it." He sprouts a satisfied look, as if he's just aced semester finals. "You're bi."

"Fuck, no!" Justin shakes his head at Brian's cluelessness. "I knew I was gay when I was thirteen. Daphne was the first person I ever told. She looked at me as if I'd just said I was going to buy new shoes, and then she asked what my mom was making for dinner because she was spending the night with me."

Turning into the hospital parking lot, Brian thinks he might finally understand. "So the gay boy knocks up his best friend because she needs to be a woman, and the two of you have never heard of birth control?"

Justin rips off his seat belt as Brian pulls into a parking space and stops short. "The condom broke, okay?" he spells out. "It was a total accident and I know we're young and everything but it's our baby and we're moving into an apartment over on Spruce Street right after graduation and we're gonna raise him or her together." Coming up for air, he eyes Brian for his reaction before thoughtfully adding, "Daphne and I have loved each other for years. If I were straight, we'd be getting married. This baby is wanted and loved."

Killing the Jeep's engine, Brian studies Justin in a whole new light. He wonders if he would have handled the situation with such aplomb if he'd given in to Lindsey's request a few years back.

"Come on, Brian! Step on it!" Justin shouts over his shoulder when he tears out of the car and breaks into a sprint toward the hospital doors. "I'm gonna be a dad!"

. . .

"Where's Justin?" Daphne cries to her mother, riding the crest of another agonizing contraction. "I thought you said you called him!"

"He's on his way, honey. Just breathe like you learned in Lamaze." Dorothy Chanders smooths the hair out of Daphne's eyes, receiving nothing but grief for her efforts.

"I need him!" she whines, batting her mother's hand off her forehead. "I can't do this without him. Fuck! It hurts!" She's on the verge of tears, a healthy dose of panic thrown in for good measure.

"Daphne, watch your mouth."

"Fuck you, Mom. Go get Justin."

Flabbergasted by the profanity pouring from her normally angelic daughter, Dorothy tries to make herself useful. "I'll see if Jennifer's found him yet. She's waiting at the main entrance to bring him up here to the maternity ward."

"Hurry!" is the command from the distraught teenager in labor. "Oh, shit! Here comes another one!"

"Daphne, take it easy." Justin's voice is at once consoling and authoritative, he and his mom entering the hospital room just as her mother's about to exit. "Take deep breaths. Focus." Bounding to her bedside, he takes her hand, leaning down to place a kiss on her cheek. "That's it," he reassures her. "Breathe out through your mouth. Remember how we practiced? Squeeze my hand at the height of the next contraction."

Quietly impressed with Justin's ability to take charge, the mothers of the two teens see that Daphne's mellowed out considerably. They're rather amazed to find she's actually smiling, awash in his calming influence.

"My water broke and I called you, but you didn't pick up. I'm still two weeks away from my due date, but I guess we'll just . . . Here it comes again!" Daphne clutches Justin's hand, breathing through the pain.

"I'm here now. I was with a friend, dancing at a club that played deafening music. I guess I didn't hear my phone in my pocket," Justin explains, conveniently leaving out the part about forgetting to check his messages because he'd needed to get fucked so badly. "I'm glad your mom called me again. How many centimeters are you dilated? Has Dr. Nelson checked you? Did you get the epidural yet?"

Daphne loosens her grip on Justin's hand as the discomfort ebbs. "She said I was at seven centimeters a half an hour ago when she did the internal exam. The epidural is starting to wear off."

Spooning a few ice chips into her mouth from the Styrofoam cup on the bedside table, Justin checks his watch. "That means you're in transition now. It won't be too much longer until you can push. Do you still want me in the delivery room like we planned?"

"Hey, I'm not going in there alone!" Daphne exclaims. "You better get into some scrubs."

Justin kisses her forehead. "Yeah, I'll track down a nurse to get them for me," he tells her. "Will you be all right for a little bit?" A nod of her head is enough for him to tell she's back in control. "Mrs. Chanders?" he asks, passing her on his way out. "Can you help Daphne through the next contraction?"

"Justin, I've told you repeatedly to call me Dorothy." Daphne's mom regards him warmly, giving him a heartfelt hug.

"Oh, yeah . . . Sorry, Mrs. Chanders." Smiling at her, he's out the door on his quest for suitable delivery room attire.

Stunned at the maturity they've heard, the grandmothers-to-be think maybe their grandchild will be in good hands after all. "He must have been paying attention in all those birthing classes you guys went to," Jennifer tells Daph, nearing her bed once more.

"Justin certainly has grown up during the past year," Dorothy remarks to Jen.

. . .

"Sorry you got roped into this," Justin apologizes to Brian, finding him in a waiting room at the end of the hallway.

Extending his arms, Brian embraces Justin before he has time to stop himself. It just feels like the right thing to do. "I'm caught up in all the excitement," he says truthfully. "Mind if I stick around?"

"You can be one of the first people to see my kid after it's born!" Justin's ear-to-ear grin reappears, Brian kissing it into submission. That just feels right, too.

An elderly couple sit in the corner of the waiting room, suddenly remembering a place they need to be that isn't there. Ignoring them, Brian and Justin leave their arms around each other while they talk.

"I'll just hang out in here and wait for you," Brian says, tipping his forehead down until it rests on Justin's.

"That's cool. Daphne's in the last stages of labor. She'll be moved to delivery pretty soon. The baby should be here before morning."

Walking over to the vending machines along the far wall, Brian selects a bottle of water. "You sure have all the lingo down. It sounds like you know what you're talking about or something."

Justin nods in agreement. "I've gone with Daphne to all of her prenatal care appointments, and we've been going to Lamaze classes for the last six weeks. She still sorta flips out every time she thinks about actually giving birth, though, so I can't wimp out on her." Checking the time again, he realizes he's been out of her room for eight minutes, and he still has to change and sterilize his hands.

"Okay, Dad," Brian teases. "Go have your baby, and then come back and tell me if it's a boy or a girl." Standing in front of Justin again, he gives him a peck on the forehead, sending him off to wherever it is that babies are born.

"Brian?" Justin stops on his way out of the waiting room, peering back at him. "Thanks for being here with me."

Twisting the cap off of his bottled water, Brian's magical smile radiates from his features.

Justin sees something in his eyes he never wants to be without. And he's kind of loving the dimples!


	2. Chapter 2

VICE VERSA - CHAPTER TWO

"Isn't she lovely?"

Baby Girl Taylor's father and grandmothers gaze at her through the hospital's nursery window, marveling at the miracle of life. The tiny thing, swaddled in pink, squirms in her plastic bassinet - not crying, but not entirely happy either.

"I hope she won't be a fussy baby like you were," Jennifer tells Justin. "You always wanted to be held."

"Then we'll hold her," Justin laughs, his jubilant mood not squelched by a baby, his baby to be exact, who might want to be held. "I'll be right back," he quickly adds. "I want a friend of mine to see her."

Jennifer recalls the good looking guy who'd driven Justin to the hospital and come in with him. She'd assumed he'd left hours ago.

"Our kids have created a beautiful baby." Dorothy Chanders directs Jennifer's thoughts back to her granddaughter, whose vocal cords are now working quite well.

She certainly is beautiful: five pounds, two ounces of pure joy with a unique look all her own. Jennifer admires the baby's amber colored skin, indicative of both her biracial mother and uncommonly fair father, coupled with fine wisps of golden hair, obviously inherited from her own Scandinavian roots. At one hour old, anyone can see that she'll blossom into a pretty little girl who'll turn heads wherever she goes.

"Mom, Mrs. Cha- I mean Dorothy, this is my friend Brian." Justin returns to the hallway outside of the nursery holding hands with a handsome, lanky man, who looks to the women to be about in his mid-twenties.

"Nice to meet you both," Brian says, extending a friendly handshake first to the light-skinned African American woman and then to Justin's mother.

"There she is!" Justin points enthusiastically to Baby Girl Taylor. "There's my daughter!" When a nurse carries her closer to the window to give her family a better look, she quiets right down at the human contact.

"A drama queen already!" Brian jokes. "Justin, she's gorgeous."

The child's grandmothers think Justin's new friend can stay. Evidently, he has impeccable taste when it comes to babies.

"I'm going to check on Daphne," Justin says. "If she's up to it, I'll bring her out here." In a matter of minutes, he wheels an elated, albeit exhausted, new mother toward them. "Daph, this is Brian." Justin takes Brian's hand again, smiling up at him. "Brian, this is my best friend and the mother of my daughter, Daphne."

"Hi," Brian simply says, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing the back of it.

"Justin, he's hot!" Daphne giggles.

Laughter all around breaks the ice, even the newborn on the other side of the glass sporting her first toothless grin. Or maybe it's gas.

"What's her name?" Brian interjects into the Norman Rockwell-like scene.

The proud parents exchange glances. "Well, we were thinking of honoring our grandmothers by using their names if we had a girl," Daphne says.

"But we thought we'd have a little more time to decide," Justin reminds them. "She's two weeks early."

Jennifer and Dorothy are pleased with the reference to their mothers. "Grandmother Melissa would be so proud if you named the baby after her!" Daphne's mom exclaims, delighted that her angelic daughter has returned.

"I never thought you cared for Grandma's name, Justin," Jennifer says of her deceased mother.

"I started liking it a whole lot more when I found out how much money she left me! Old alcoholic Victoria will never know how much that decision means to us."

Daphne's especially grateful to the woman she'll never get to know. "Yeah," she says, nodding at Justin. "We were able to go with the largest unit in the Spruce Street Arms, thanks to her generosity. I can't wait to move in there and get settled!"

Brian peers at the infant as the nurse delicately lays her back down. "Melissa Victoria Taylor," he says, smiling at the sound of it. "You could call her Missy."

. . .

"Brian?! Brian, where are you?" Michael pounds on the loft's door like a madman, Brian finally sliding it open from the inside.

"Oh . . . Hi, Mikey," he greets his friend halfheartedly, clearly wishing to see someone else standing there. "What's the problem?"

"Problem? What's the problem? Where in the fuck have you been? That's the problem!" Storming into Brian's kitchen, Michael throws his car keys onto the breakfast bar. "Why don't you roll us a joint? Let's get high."

"Um, well, I gave all my stash to Ted and Emmett. I think I need to grow up a little," Brian offers weakly, pouring himself a scotch to prepare for the diatribe that's sure to follow. "You want a beer?" He knows Michael doesn't drink hard liquor. Give him a six-pack, though, and he's set. "I've been around."

"Around? Around where?" Michael pops the top of the can Brian lobs to him, draining half of it. "I'll tell you where. For the past two weeks, your head's been around that stupid blond twink. That's where!"

"Come on, Mikey. No need for name calling." Brian wonders if Michael's already had a six-pack. He usually puts much more effort into concealing his resentment.

"How about last night?" Michael tries to prove his point. "We always party at Babylon on Friday nights, but how long were you there? I'll tell you how long you were there. Twenty-two minutes. And what did you do during those twenty-two minutes?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Every time someone came in, you craned your neck toward the door, looking for him. You only ordered one shot of whiskey, and you turned down four blow jobs and three nice asses to fuck." Michael stops long enough to take another drink, resuming with a vengeance. "And what about the night before last night?"

"What about it?"

"You couldn't relax the whole time we hung out in Woody's. We've been meeting there after work for years to unwind while you decide which lucky bastard's gonna get plowed from behind by you, but all of a sudden, no one looks good enough for you to fuck anymore. Do you know how many games of pool you've lost to me - ME! - during the last two weeks?"

Brian mentally counts down from five, Michael answering his own question on three.

"Eight! Eight times I've beaten you. And Marco is pretty pissed about the felt on the corner table. I've never seen you scratch like that . . . ever."

"Mikey, I've got a lot on my mind, okay?" Brian refills his drink, stealing a peek at the time: almost nine forty-five. Slipping into his shoes elicits another rant from dear old Mikey.

"And don't think I haven't noticed you cruising that fucking streetlight every night at ten o'clock! Do you think he's gonna show up some night at the same time you met him, under the same lamppost, just to be all romantic or something?"

The thought has crossed Brian's mind.

Exasperation oozes from Michael's pores. "Well?"

"Did he happen to give you his phone number or tell you where he lives?"

Michael seriously considers some form of medical intervention. "Jesus, Brian! Do you hear yourself? You don't smoke weed anymore, and you're completely smitten with a seventeen-year-old boy?" He shakes his head incredulously. "Get a grip, will ya?"

"He's very mature for his age."

. . .

"If you could sign here, sir, please."

Justin autographs the invoice the movers give him, paying them in cash. He and Daphne, with Missy sound asleep on her shoulder, stand in the living room of their new apartment, taking it all in. "What do you think?" he asks. "After we get all the boxes unpacked, will it feel like home?"

"Are you kidding? Justin, I'm so happy! This complex is the nicest one in Southern Hills, and it's just a few miles from our parents. I saw two other young couples out by the pool this morning when I was pushing Missy in her stroller. One of them stopped me and commented how adorable she is. I think they said they live in 5D." Carefully shifting her month-old daughter onto her other shoulder, Daphne walks over to the alcove that's designed to be a small sitting room between the two master bedrooms. "Can you find her cradle? She's starting to get heavy. Let's let her sleep in here, and then we can set it up to be her room later."

"Yeah. Let me look for it. I think they put all the baby stuff in the dining room." Justin goes through the boxes marked BABY and then returns with the little bed. "Your mom got all teary eyed when the movers loaded the crib onto the van. Did you see that?" he asks. "And last night she was telling your dad and me how to fold it so it would take up less space and everything. I thought she was okay with us moving out."

Stretching her tiny body, Missy yawns when Daphne lays her in the cradle, promptly falling back to sleep.

"She gets sappy sometimes," Daphne sighs. "She's known about our plans from the beginning. With you sleeping there every night to help me with the baby, I think she just got really attached to our little family. She'll be all right."

"Good," Justin says. "Because when she hugged me good-bye, it felt as if she'd never let go. For a minute there, I thought we were gonna have to live with your parents forever." He pushes some things out of the area that will be Missy's room, making space for her full-sized crib, changing table, and other assorted paraphernalia that comes standard with every baby. "Let's do her room first," he suggests, "as soon as she wakes up."

"Come and sit," Daph tells him, grabbing two sodas from the fridge. "You've been on your feet all day." She shoves a box on the sofa full of her shoes over to one side, flopping down in a heap.

Justin follows her, taking his Pepsi out of her hand. "God, it feels good to rest. It seems as if I've been packing nonstop for a week."

"That's because you have been!" Daphne laughs, shaking her head. "I don't know how you managed to go home every day, organize all your stuff and pack it up, and then come back over to my house and box up all my junk, too. Plus, you walked the floor every night with Missy when she cried." She playfully socks him in the upper arm. "You're like my superhero!"

Justin shrugs his shoulders, letting out a deep breath. "Once school was over, it was easy. Hey! You forgot the part where I did all your schoolwork for you while you nursed Missy. I'm just glad they allowed you to work from home during the last week of classes so you could still graduate."

"Yeah, it worked out well. If she would have waited until the due date to make her entrance, none of that would have happened." Daphne considers all they've been through during the past month, coming to the conclusion that everything happens for a reason. "Actually, I'm glad she was early. That's why she was only like five pounds at birth. Any bigger than that, and I probably would have died!"

Justin leans over, kissing her on the cheek. "You're the one who's the superhero."

Closing her eyes, Daphne rests her head against the back of the sofa. "I knew you were gonna be a good dad, Justin," she says softly. "I think I'm just gonna snooze here until she wakes up."

"Relax," he tells her, lifting her feet to where he'd been sitting so she can catch a quick nap. "I'll start putting some things away in the kitchen."

. . .

"Cynthia?" Brian calls out to his personal assistant at Ryder Advertising when she passes his open doorway, waving her into his office.

"Morning, Brian," she murmurs, setting an armful of client files down on his desk.

Looking at them is what he'd like to do the least that day. "I was thinking about your niece," he gets right to the business at hand. "The one who's been here a few times in the afternoons . . . the one who wears the private school uniform."

Cynthia wrinkles up her forehead, not understanding what interest Brian could possibly have in her brother's daughter, who periodically shadows her at work for a school project she's been working on. "Christy? Why have you been thinking about her?"

"The uniform . . . isn't it from that private high school over in Southern Hills?" Brian knows full well that it's the girls' uniform from St. James Academy. He's discreetly cased the front of the place numerous times, driving by the suburban school at dismissal time to comb the faces of the teenagers who pile out of its doors every afternoon at two-fifteen. But Cynthia doesn't need to know that. Christ! He hopes no one's onto the fact that he takes his lunch hour later and later and that he stays away from the office more and more.

How can a person vanish from the face of the earth so thoroughly?

"St. James Academy? Why is that on your mind? Brian, you know you're up for Ad Person of the Year this year. I thought we were going to brainstorm on the Old Pitt Beer campaign so you can blow Ryder away with your outstanding creativity."

"Yeah . . . about that. I can't do it today. I wanted to get a little something for your niece for her graduation. Oh, by the way, when is the graduation?" Brian wonders if Cynthia is buying any of this. Shit! He can persuade anybody to buy anything. It shouldn't be this difficult. He remembers a time when fucking nameless ass on a daily basis was his sole mission in life. How simple life had been! Now his days and nights are consumed with the constant pursuit of Justin Taylor.

"Brian, Christy's a sophomore. She won't graduate for awhile. What's all this interest in her about? You hardly ever speak to her when she's here." Cynthia starts to open one of the files she'd set on his desk, but he reaches for it, closes it back up, and returns it to the stack. "Why are you being so weird?" she tacks on.

"So . . . they've already had their graduation?" he pumps her for information. "How long ago was it?" Opening his bottom desk drawer, he pretends to be looking for something work-related, just to buffer some of the weirdness out of the conversation.

Maybe he hasn't had his triple latte yet, Cynthia reasons to herself, standing to leave Brian's office. "I think Christy mentioned going to a couple of graduation parties about three weeks ago. Do you need me to make a run to Starbucks for you?"

"No, that's okay. Do you happen to know of any apartment complexes out in Southern Hills that have some kind of tree in their names?"

. . .

Well, that went swimmingly, Brian thinks. Now not only Michael, but Cynthia also thinks he needs to have his head examined. Why hadn't he asked Justin for his number before he'd left the hospital - or at least given him his own number? It must have been the fact that he'd gotten precious little sleep on that hard-backed chair in the maternity ward's waiting room the night the baby was born, his brain just not being in high gear during the wee hours of the morning when he'd finally said his good-byes after oohing and aahing over her with Justin and Daphne.

Directory assistance had fifty-six Taylors listed, so tracking him down that way wasn't going to happen. Frequenting every neighborhood within a ten mile radius of Justin's high school proved to be futile, too. What was he expecting anyway? That he'd get lucky and just find him outside of any one of the thousands of finely manicured homes he'd driven past during the last month?

Sadly, he realizes, that's exactly what he'd been hoping for. Tragically, that was and still is the only thing he'd had to go on.

Pathetic.

"Cynthia?" Brian pages her in the outer office. "I'll be gone for the rest of the day. Hold the fort down." Gathering up a few things he could work on from home, he doesn't know why he's even bothering. There's no way he's going to get anything done.

"Sure thing, Brian. Going shopping for graduation gifts?"

"I'll see you tomorrow."

. . .

Brian climbs into his Jeep, loosening his tie and flinging his suit jacket across the passenger seat onto his briefcase. With no real plan of action in mind, he only knows that staring at the four walls in his office and dreaming of nothing but Justin's beautiful face, Justin's hot, tight little ass, and the downy-smooth feel of Justin's milky white skin is something he just can't spend one more day doing . . . or else he really will need to be committed to the nuthouse.

Pulling out of the parking lot, he dons his designer shades and sets off on his routine pilgrimage to the suburbs. Desperate to locate his boy, Brian's mind wanders to the two times in his loft when he did have his arms full of Justin, his mouth devouring Justin, and his dick inside of Justin. It's hard to believe, but it's true. He hasn't picked up a single piece of anonymous ass since then. He'd rather jerk himself off to the memories of the perfect boy in his bed, in his shower, and in his arms on the dance floor at Babylon than waste his time with inferior peons.

Brian's cock swells as he remembers the look in Justin's eyes when he'd claimed him for his own from the two tricks at Babylon and the ease they'd felt with each other at the hospital. He's sure he isn't imagining it. There was something more brewing between them than just fantastic sex. At twenty-nine years old, he's never experienced the feeling before, the lure of realizing its full potential something he's not willing to give up on.

The Jeep has seemingly steered itself out into the rolling hills of Pittsburgh's country club set, Brian slowing down to take in the scenery - and the sight of any beautiful blond boys he might spy in its midst. The tree-lined boulevards queue up before him like a maze, deliberately keeping him from his goal.

And then he remembers! Trees!

Which tree had Justin and Daphne cited in the name of their future home? Sycamore? Pine? Elm? With the graduation of St. James Academy's senior class three weeks earlier, they'd most likely be moved into their apartment by now. Excitement quickly replaces melancholy as Brian's mood of the moment.

Finally! A lead!

Why the fuck doesn't he know more names of trees? Why the fuck isn't Forestry a required class in obtaining a degree in Advertising?

. . .

"Daph?" Justin knocks lightly on her half-closed bedroom door, waiting to be invited in. There isn't much they don't know about each other, and neither is particularly modest, but still, he respects her privacy and her space. "I just made some tuna salad . . . if you want it," he says. "Are you finished feeding her?"

"Yeah. Come on in." Daphne's still adjusting herself back into her nursing bra and pulling her tee shirt down when Justin walks over to her bed to pick up the baby.

"I'll burp her while you eat," he tells her, lifting Missy upright against his shoulder. "Do you have any spit-up towels in here? I just threw all the dirty ones I could find in my room and her room into the washer."

Daphne hands him the last clean burping rag off of her dresser, Justin unable hold it in one second longer.

"Daphne?" He stares at her chest with a goofy grin on his face, thinking of the once thin-as-a-rail best friend he used to have - the one with no bosom to speak of. "Those things are enormous!"

"I'm breast-feeding an infant, you idiot! Naturally, they're going to be huge." Daphne helps herself to the tuna salad while Justin sits in the rocking chair in the living room, expertly patting the baby's back. "I heard they go away after you stop breast-feeding, though, and you end up with less than you had before you ever got pregnant," she laments, following him and sitting on the sofa to eat.

Justin slumps back in the rocker after Missy belches like a truck driver, keeping up the slow back and forth motion that she loves. "That's too bad," he teases Daph, the baby drifting peacefully off to sleep against his body. "How are you ever going to get a man?"

"What? Are you saying I don't have anything to offer in a relationship besides big boobs?"

Both laughing heartily at the path the conversation has taken, Justin eggs her on. "No. I'm just saying it'll really help!"

"I thought you didn't care about big boobs, Justin, on me or anybody else, for that matter."

"Daphne, I'm gay, not dead. I can appreciate physical attributes, male or female. And even though they do nothing for me, I can see how some guys would love to get lost in there."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure they'll be long gone before I get hooked up with anyone," she points out a tad wistfully. "My priority right now is Missy . . . and getting into college." Flipping on the TV, she sets the volume low. "What about you?" she brings up in the next breath. "Whatever happened to that Brian guy who took your virginity and named our daughter? Because if you don't want him, you can send him my way. That guy is dreamy!"

"Brian?" Justin's mind wanders to the man he'd seemed so into the morning Missy was born. "I don't know. We didn't keep in touch. I haven't seen him since he left the hospital."

"He didn't even call you?" Daphne sighs. "You two looked as if you really belonged together." She launches into one of their marathon gabfests about the male species - the ones that had started back when they'd both discovered boys, along about the middle of seventh grade - and then returns to the subject at hand. "He seemed like such a nice guy, too."

"I don't think I gave him my number. My brain was kind of on you and Missy that day." Justin stands up with his sleeping daughter still attached to the front of him, walking to her crib and putting her to bed. "He's probably forgotten all about me by now," he goes on. "And I'm not looking to get into a relationship either. I'm planning to work at the art supply store until my classes at PIFA start in the fall." He sees Daphne wiggling her feet into her sandals and taking the key to the mailbox off its hook when he comes back into the living room.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she announces. "I'm gonna check the mail."

Settling in the rocking chair again, Justin grabs his sketch pad from the coffee table, soon absorbed in drawing Missy from one of the pictures he has of her on his phone. Not even realizing that Daphne's been gone much longer than it would normally take to collect the mail, he selects a second photo to replicate into his sketchbook when he hears voices approach the door to the apartment. Oddly, he thinks, Daph's talking to someone who sounds sweetly familiar - someone who fucked him and sucked him and named his daughter a month earlier.

". . . and it was fucking Spruce!" Brian laughs. He doesn't stop his report on the many different names of trees he's just discovered, thanks to his iPhone, as he follows Daphne in. ". . . and when I finally remembered which apartments you guys had been talking about moving into, I found my way over here, and there you were out front at the mailboxes."

Justin's virtually paralyzed, sitting in the rocker with his sketchbook and gazing at the man he thought he'd never see again. Towering and tan, wearing Armani suit pants sans jacket with tie hanging loosely, the mere sight of Brian causes his pulse to quicken.

"Hey." Brian stops the tree nonsense when he spots Justin, his lips rolling inward against each other.

"Hey," Justin innocently replies. He can't get up, due to his rapidly hardening dick.

That's okay, though. Brian steps toward him with an outstretched arm and a look in his eyes that spells relief, desire, and comfort all combined together. "I thought I'd never find you again," he half-whispers against Justin's ear, pulling him out of the chair into a clinging embrace. "I've missed you," he says, squeezing tighter.

Justin hugs his captor, no words coming to him to express his surprise. That's okay, too. Words are not what Brian's after. Apparently, it's my tonsils, he muses, Brian's tongue darting through his lips and pushing into the back of his throat. He hasn't come in his pants since he was fifteen, but he thinks he just might when he feels Brian's lean thigh pressing between his legs. Justin could easily spend the rest of his life right there in Brian's arms with their bodies blended together if it weren't for Daphne, who starts to awkwardly stammer out barely coherent phrases.

"Um . . . Uh . . . I'll just . . . I think I hear . . . I'll just check on the baby."

Parting themselves slightly, Brian and Justin grin at each other like kids in a candy store. "Want to go get a drink?" Brian comes up with quickly, not sure how much longer he can wait to bury his cock in Justin's ass.

"Sure!" Justin can't grab his cigarettes and keys fast enough. Telling Daphne he'll be gone for awhile and to call if she needs him for anything, he pulls Brian out the door. "Do you want to take my new car?" He points to the blue Ford Explorer parked in the space designated for his apartment number. "I just got it last week."

Brian glances at the SUV and then back over at Justin. "Fuck! That's a nice ride for someone your age. And big. Aren't most seventeen-year-olds driving compact hand-me-downs from their parents?"

"I turned eighteen last week, came into a large inheritance, and needed something big enough for all the baby gear we're always carting around."

"Oh, yeah," Brian nods, bending his mind around the reality of Justin's life. "It must be freaky to have a kid." Unlocking his Jeep with the remote on his key chain, he leans over into his face after they get in. "I meant it when I said I missed you." Slipping a hand behind Justin's neck, he pulls him into a deep kiss, wondering how he'll survive the time it will take to get somewhere and pound his pretty little ass into oblivion. A month is entirely too long to go without fucking anyone, but then again, just anyone isn't whom he's been waiting for.

Justin loses himself in the heady feeling of knowing Brian's been looking for him, moaning softly when he unzips his fly and fondles his balls. Wrapping his arms around him, he can't imagine how he's endured the time without him.

"These have to come off." Brian soon paws the waistband of Justin's jeans. Wrestling with the offending denim until it bunches around his knees, he unfastens his own suit pants and pushes them down, finally freeing his throbbing cock. Sliding his seat back all the way, Justin hears him say, "Straddle me." It isn't a question.

Deftly shedding his clothes, Justin crawls into Brian's lap, their erections rubbing together.

"I've gotta fuck you," Brian says, finding a condom that had fallen out of his pocket and rolling it onto his leaking dick. Spreading the lube on Justin's ass, he circles a finger around his rim, easing it inside a few times to open him up.

"God!" Justin whispers. Rising up on his knees, he slowly lowers himself, stretching to take Brian's thick shaft into his body. Gradually, he starts to ride him faster and faster. Making the head of Brian's cock scrape his prostate on every downstroke, he thinks he might black out.

"That's it," Brian's voice brings him back to earth. "Fuck yourself on me. You're still so tight. Been saving yourself for me?" He kisses his luscious lips. "I could fuck you all day, Justin."

His face nuzzled between Brian's neck and the headrest, Justin inhales sharply, the scent of the Jeep's leather interior bathing his senses. "Leather makes me crazy," he confesses in a daze. "I'm gonna come."

"You're into leather?" Brian pumps harder, suddenly more excited.

"The smell of it," Justin murmurs. "The feel of it on my skin. Jesus, Brian!" His dick overflows between them, Brian tensing up seconds later and shooting into the condom. Each holding fast to the other, they breathe as one.

"So you wouldn't mind being tied up with my leather restraints?" Brian laughs after a few minutes. The smile on Justin's face is all the answer he needs.

Carefully maneuvering himself off of Brian, Justin shinnies back into his clothes. "You said something about a drink?"

"Sounds great. I'll take you to my favorite bar." Brian ties off the condom and places it in the small trash bin in the door, wiping at the come stain Justin left on his shirt with napkins from the glove compartment.

Casually glancing at Brian's lap, Justin's smile grows wider, his eyebrows lifting. "You're getting hard again. Can I blow you while you drive?"

Brian had just known there was a reason why he scoured the city relentlessly for his boy!

. . .

Still not believing how wonderfully the day has turned out, Brian orders two shots of J.B. for himself and a beer for each of them from Rick, the bartender he'd fucked in Babylon's back room a couple of months earlier. He'd been doubtful of ever seeing Justin again, but thanks to a little information on Cynthia's part and a little ingenuity on his own part, the stars seem to have lined up in his favor.

"Here you go, Bri. Been to Babylon lately?" Rick sets the drinks in front of him. "I'll be there later, after my shift. Want to meet me there?"

Downing his two shots in rapid succession, Brian tosses more than enough money out. "My name's not Bri, and no, I don't want to meet you at Babylon later." Gathering his two bottles of beer, he turns away from the bar.

"Oh, okay." Rick still doesn't get it. "Maybe another time."

"Don't hold your breath," Brian mumbles, dodging crowds of horny homos on his way back to the table.

Shit!

He's gone four minutes and Justin's attracting hordes of men. They've flocked to him like white on rice, every one of them dreaming of deflowering his scrumptious ass.

"Back off, boys!" Brian calls out to the masses, giving one of the beers to Justin. "Hands to yourself. He's mine." A few of them leave with no hassle, and some of them have to be told more sternly, Justin beaming his megawatt smile the whole time. "That's not helping," Brian says, sitting back in his chair after practically kicking a stubborn mule in the shins who'd had the nerve to plop into the seat he'd vacated.

"What? What's not helping?" Justin takes a long drink.

"That." Brian gestures toward his face. "Your smile. Your eyes. Your hair."

Justin's alabaster skin begins to redden. He feels his ears getting warm.

"Do you even know how beautiful you are? How absolutely stellar your ass is? Haven't you been hit on about five hundred times in your life so far?"

"The few guys who were gay at St. James weren't my type," Justin says, struggling to keep from blushing. "And most of the other ones who gave me the eye were like old and gross. I got the picture pretty early to steer clear of them and get the hell away from the situation as fast as I could."

"Ah . . . avoidance," Brian nods, thankful for the concept and the fact that Justin's used it all those years. "So . . . you've never had a boyfriend?" A fleeting image of the Brian Kinney who used to exist floats by in his mind's eye: The one who didn't give a rat's ass about the life of any trick he'd ever picked up. The one who didn't know the meaning of the word "jealousy." The one who didn't have a possessive bone in his body. "You'd really never let anyone fuck you before that first time with me?"

"Nope. Nobody before you. Nobody since then either," Justin laughs. "I mean, until today . . . in the car. Brian, do you realize that we fucked in broad daylight in the parking area of where I live? I just moved in there, for Christ's sake! Anyone could have walked by!"

"Fuck, that's what makes it hot!" Brian finishes off his beer, clunking the bottle down next to Justin's. Reaching for his hand across the table, he pulls him forward until their lips meet in midair over the empty bottles, cupping his other hand around the back of his neck. In broad daylight. Right in the middle of Woody's. With everyone walking by.

That's what makes it hot!

"Oh, my God, Teddy! Would you look at that?! It's Brian Kinney, sucking face with a trick right here in Woody's! See? I told you he'd resurface. I told you he'd be back for nameless, faceless ass. Although . . . he certainly seems to be liking this one's face."

Brian rolls his eyes at the sound of Emmett's flamboyant southern drawl, not surprised in the least to see his sidekick, the positively mundane Theodore, along for the ride.

"Hi, Bri," they say in stereo, Brian thinking for the second time in ten minutes that his name is not Bri. "Mind if we join you?" Emmett asks - for no earthly reason at all because he pulls up a chair and lands his nelly ass into it without so much as pretending to wait for an answer.

"Raiding the preschools for tricks these days?" Ted pipes up, scooting a chair over for himself.

Skewing an eyebrow at Brian, Justin's a little put off by the juvenile reference.

"Emmett, Theodore," Brian takes back control of the moment, "this is Justin. He's most definitely not a trick."

Emmett and Ted stutter out hello's, shocked at Brian's behavior.

"Justin," Brian continues, "this is Emmett. He's the biggest gossip Liberty Avenue has ever seen. He's the one to go to if you ever need clothing that screams 'I'm as queer as a three dollar bill.' But he's a pretty good social director," he doesn't forget to throw in.

"Hi, Emmett," Justin says, standing to shake his new acquaintance's hand.

"Why, Brian," Emmett chimes. "You've found yourself a refreshingly genteel boy with perfect country club manners!"

"Yeah, yeah," Brian cuts off Emily Post. "Justin, this is Theodore, known to some around here as plain old Ted. He's uh . . . plain. And old. He's the one to go to if you . . . if you . . . need to know about numbers."

"Numbers?" Justin asks, shaking Ted's hand.

"I'm an accountant," Ted says. Plainly.

Signaling Rick to set them up with another round, Brian tells him to put Ted's and Emmett's drinks on his tab, too. He doesn't say much else for awhile, letting Emmett's diarrhea of the mouth run its course. He can't help but feel proud every time Justin makes points with his witty charm and snippets of youthful tales.

"So, Justin, what do you do?" Brian hears Ted inquire. He almost answers, 'Blows me. With the most incredible mouth, lips, and tongue I've ever felt. While I'm driving.' But he doesn't get the chance because Justin answers for himself.

"I just graduated from St. James Academy, and I'll be attending the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Art in September. I'm going to be an artist. And I just became a dad a month ago. Do you want to see some pictures of my daughter?" Whipping out his phone, Justin scrolls down until he gets to the recent ones of Missy. She's starting to smile on a regular basis when she hears his voice or when he comes into her line of vision, and he has quite a few pictures saved for showing her off.

Emmett and Ted are genuinely interested, Brian also leaning over to check out snapshots of the month-old baby he'd nicknamed. By the time Justin finishes his teenaged gay father saga, he's acquired two more friends who seem as if they're long lost buddies. An hour and three more rounds of beer elapse before he looks at his watch, suddenly concerned about the length of time he's been away from Daphne and Missy.

Brian sees the alarm on his face. "Do you have to be getting back?" he wonders, well aware of the fact that he's never before put the considerations of anyone else ahead of his own immediate wants and needs.

Ted and Emmett exchange knowing expressions. Brian Kinney has it bad. For a guy who does happen to be awfully sensational, they concede.

Outside of Woody's, Brian tilts Justin comfortably backward onto the hood of his Jeep, thoroughly sweeping his tongue through the inside of his mouth. Their bodies meld together effortlessly, their hands and fingers entwining like vines. "Oh, look!" he quips when they climb inside for the trip back to the suburbs. "I'm getting hard again!"

. . .

"Do you want to come in and say hi to Daph? She usually feeds the baby around five o'clock," Justin says, noting that it's nearly five-thirty. "Missy will probably still be awake. You won't believe how much bigger she is now."

"Uh, sure." Brian's glad to be invited in. "I can stay for a little while. Come here," he whispers, his mouth enveloping Justin's again.

"I've got a room not far from here, you know," Justin laughs quietly, their dueling tongues and traveling hands threatening to induce another bout of parking lot sex. He's starting to really enjoy the way Brian always slips a hand behind his neck, pulling him close when they kiss. "Let's go in," he says. "Maybe Daphne's been cooking."

"Don't tell me you two are living in wedded bliss," Brian churns out as they make their way to Justin's apartment, "because I'd have to puke all over the place."

"Don't be crazy," Justin shakes his head. "We're cohabiting to raise our daughter. Every once in a while, one of us will get a wild hair and feel like making, you know, food or something. You never know when it's gonna happen. It's a good thing Missy eats at the restaurant of Daphne's chest. She's the only one who gets regular meals."

"Sounds like college. I lived with three roommates in a food-deprived, chaotic nightmare. And one of them was always eating at the restaurant of his girlfriend's chest."

"No wonder you're gay," Justin shudders, hearing Missy's cries as they get closer to the door. "Sounds like someone's not a happy camper." He and Brian walk in to find Daphne pacing the living room with the baby propped on her shoulder, attempting to soothe her with comforting words and back patting.

"Justin! You got fucked again!" She blurts out the information as soon as she gets a look at him. It's that best friend radar. Daphne's is razor sharp.

"Jesus, Daphne!" Justin gasps, taking his little noisemaker out of her hands. "Don't say that where she can hear you! You wanna damage her for life?" Holding Missy a few inches from his face, he reminds her that she's the best little girl in the whole wide world and not to give her mother so much sass. When he tucks her against his body, resuming the very same back-patting technique Daphne had been using, her cries gradually abate into small gurgles and then dry up altogether.

"It's not like she knows what I'm saying or anything. You just have that happy, satisfied aura to you that says, 'I've been-'"

"Okay, Daph!" Justin raises his eyebrows at her. "We get it. You don't have to say it again. It sounds . . . creepy coming from you."

Brian thinks the three-ring circus he's landed in is insanely similar to his college days. "We can't have anybody thinking Justin and me fucking is creepy, can we?" he laughs, sitting on the sofa as Daphne moves three baby toys, a blanket, and a package of Pampers out of his way. "Just wait 'til Justin notices your freshly fucked look," he adds.

Daphne gets comfy in the rocking chair. "Right. And we all know how often that happens, don't we? When you get pregnant on your very first time, it doesn't leave room for a lot of subsequent fucking."

Justin shares a quick glance with her, the irony of why she wanted him to be her first almost comical. Sinking down next to Brian, he holds Missy on his lap, her smile identical to his.

"She really is cute," Brian says, the baby looking toward the sound of his voice. "You guys seem to have this parenting thing down pretty well."

"She likes Justin better than me," Daphne admits with an exaggerated pout, onto the way her daughter had turned into one big ball of happy after her daddy had come home.

"Except at mealtime," Justin jokes. "Brian, here. Hold her. She keeps staring at you. She likes you." Lifting Missy out toward him, he sees that Brian's not so sure it's a good idea.

"I've never held a baby before. I don't even know what to do." Uneasiness stops him from taking her. "I can't break her, can I?"

"Just go like this," Daphne says, rounding her arms in front of herself in demonstration.

Laying the baby in Brian's arms, Justin fishes in his pockets for his phone, clicking a few random pictures as they get to know each other.

It doesn't even bother Brian, and he briefly wonders if that fact should bother him. Kinney's morphed into a pile of mush, he can hear the Liberty Avenue gossip mill grinding away. Undoubtedly, Emmett will broadcast his doting on Justin for all the world to see in the middle of Woody's at four o'clock in the afternoon. That, right there, is going to shoot the reputation all to hell. Somehow, that doesn't bother him either.

"Hey, Justin, I'm gonna get ready to take her to my mom's for a little while, okay?" Daphne starts to gather up most of the baby stuff littering the room. "My great aunts are going to be over there, and my mom called earlier to ask if I could bring Missy by for them to see. We won't be gone too long. I don't want to keep her out too late."

Leaning into each other shoulder to shoulder, Justin and Brian amuse Missy to no end, making eyes at her and coaxing her into smiling while Daphne gets ready to leave. When she emerges from her room a short time later, Justin packs the diaper bag for her and gets Missy's car seat.

"See?" he says to Brian, taking her back from him and buckling her into it. "You're a pro already. Just support the back of her head, and the rest takes care of itself. She'll let you know if you're doing something wrong."

"Sure thing, Dad." Brian hands her over. "Bye bye, you sweet thing," he tells Missy.

"I'm gonna help Daph load everything up," Justin says. "Then I'll give you the grand tour of the place. And see what I mean about food? No one cooks it. Maybe we can order a pizza." Giving the diaper bag to Daphne, he snaps the seat's handle in place and totes the baby out the door.

"I was right about Brian," Daphne giggles on their way to the parking area. "He's really nice. Is he like your boyfriend now?"

"I like him a lot," Justin admits. "But I don't want to scare him away. I guess I'll just take it one day at a time and see what happens." He kisses Missy's forehead after strapping her into Daphne's car. "Do you think he likes me?" he ventures, standing back up.

"He would have run as far away from you as he possibly could have gotten after Missy was born if he didn't like you. You should see the way he looks at you when you're not looking at him. I'd say yes, he likes you."

Justin's skin gets hot; he can't keep the blush away. He can't explain it, but he does know how Brian looks at him. He can feel it. "Say hi to your mom and dad for me," he tells Daph before she leaves.

"Brian?" he calls out when he returns to an empty sofa, no trace of him within eyesight. Maybe he's running out the back door, as far away from me as he can get, Justin thinks, now that the whole baby thing has become a tangible reality to him. "Brian?"

"In here. I gave myself the tour."

Following the voice down the hall, Justin stands in the doorway of his bedroom. Not only has Brian not run away, he realizes, but he must not be planning to anytime soon, since he's butt naked on top of his bed in a state of semi-arousal. "I take it you don't want pizza?"

"Maybe later. Right now I want you." Brian palms his dick, stroking it slowly.

"God, Brian! You look fucking hot!" Kicking his bedroom door shut, Justin promptly strips, unable to keep from licking his lips in anticipation. "I wanna suck you off," he says huskily, crawling on all fours across his bed toward Brian. Perpendicular with his face, he kisses him deeply and then licks a hot, wet trail down his chest. Never breaking eye contact with him, Justin's unfettered dick rises.

Holding his cock upright in his fist, Brian feeds it into his mouth, his other hand tugging on Justin's erection with long, squeezing fingers. "Let me blow you, too," he groans when his fingers become slick with pre-come. "Bring me your dick."

Soon unleashing waves of come down the other's throat, they eagerly gulp the hot liquid, the pounding in their chests gradually subsiding.

Justin rolls off of Brian and rights himself face-to-face with the amazing man, a host of emotions beginning a continuous loop through his head. Lying next to him in the center of his bed, he contemplates which one would be the least offending to voice to a person who doesn't do boyfriends. Ultimately deciding that words could do none of them justice anyway, Justin goes with draping an arm and a leg over him, squishing his balls and semi-soft dick into his thigh. That one must be the right choice, he thinks, as Brian's arms encircle his body and his forehead rests on the side of his face.

"Promise me you won't disappear on me ever again," Brian whispers into Justin's mussy yellow hair. "I was so fucking scared."

"Scared?"

"Of spending my life alone." Brian closes his eyes, the fact that an alien life form must have taken control of his speech vaguely registering somewhere in the back of his mind. Trying to remember the last time his former ego made an appearance, he pretty much narrows it down to the night in Babylon when he'd picked up two tricks on the dance floor, anticipating their dual worship. He envisions himself wishing that guy a good life, the door slamming on his ass forever as he evaporates into thin air. Shallow fucker, Brian silently calls him, fessing up to liking the replacement much better, even if the replacement is wont to leaking surprising admissions.

"I didn't disappear," Justin answers him, dropping soft little kisses up and down his neck. "I just had a lot of responsibilities I had to take care of. And after what Michael said, I figured you were done with me. I mean, the night we rushed to the hospital was the second time we'd fucked. You were over your quota with me by one." Fingertips grazing lightly over Brian's chest, he idly rubs over his nipples in circular patterns, unwittingly taking the sting out of his remarks.

"Quota? What the fuck did Mikey tell you?"

Justin can hear Brian's best friend warning him to fuck off as if he'd just said it an hour earlier. "Well, getting rid of me at all costs seemed to be his mission in life that night. Uh, let's see . . . He said you're not my boyfriend. And that I should just forget about you. Oh, yeah . . . And your epic selfishness was right up there at the top of the list, too."

Brian tightens his arms around Justin, wincing at the characterization.

"You told me yourself that you don't believe in . . . Um, that you only believe in fucking. I had no reason to think he was lying." Skimming his fingertips along Brian's highly defined pecs, Justin lowers his hand to trace the outline of his ribs, acutely aware that if what they're doing is merely fucking and nothing more, he might be able to live with it.

Bending his face down, Brian kisses him tenderly. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I guess I've been somewhat of an asshole . . . for a long time. But meeting you . . . I don't want to be like that anymore."

. . .

Daphne picks through the box of leftover pizza on her kitchen counter, zapping a slice in the microwave. When Justin comes out of his room to grab a beer and ask after her parents, she gets it immediately: freshly showered and casually dressed in clean sweats and a tee shirt, barefoot with cigarettes and lighter clutched in one hand, he owns the world. "So . . . Brian . . ." She smiles broadly.

"Yeah," he grins back. "Brian."

"I'm so happy for you, Justin!" Daphne hugs him tightly around the neck. "I knew you two just needed some time alone. He's so perfect for you!" Taking her slice of pizza, she follows him out to their small back patio, where he's been smoking to keep the apartment free from pollutants. "Tell me everything! I need to know!"

Leaving the glass door open just a little so they can listen for Missy, Justin perches himself on the surrounding three foot block wall and lights a cigarette. "I don't know. He just likes me."

Daphne settles onto the chaise lounge Jennifer had given them when they moved in, begging for more details with a waving hand as she chews.

"He'd been looking for me ever since he left the hospital. I knew how he went through guys as fast as he could, so I didn't think I was that important to him." Justin flicks his ashes into the ashtray beside his leg. "But he met me, and now he wants to stop that shit."

"That's so romantic!" Daphne wipes her greasy hands on a napkin, sighing happily.

"You don't think he's too old for me?"

"He doesn't look old. How old is he?"

"Twenty-nine. But he's never had a boyfriend either, so that makes him as young as me on that subject. I don't think he acts old at all," Justin adds, mentally hailing the sexual prowess of twenty-nine-year-old Brian Kinney.

"He's only about the hottest guy I've ever seen!" Daphne gushes. "Next to you, I mean. When are you gonna see him again? I hope you finally exchanged numbers," she strings together in one breath. "And he was so cute with Missy!"

"Yeah, the phone number thing will never be a problem again," Justin laughs. "We're gonna have lunch when I start work at The Art Mart on Monday."

"That's four days away! How can you wait so long?!" Daphne reaches for the new cigarette Justin lights.

Handing it to her, he can't refrain from disapproving. "Only one drag, Daph. You know you shouldn't smoke until you stop breast-feeding the baby. Why did we start smoking in high school anyway?"

. . .

"Morning, Brian." Cynthia hand-delivers her boss's triple latte straight onto his desk, hoping to avoid another non-productive day like the previous one. "Ready to work on the Old Pitt Beer campaign?"

"What took you so long? I've been here since six-thirty. I've got a million and one ideas!" Brian pulls the chair facing his desk out for her to sit in. "We're going to make me Ad Person of the Year! Let's get to brainstorming!" Rubbing his hands together briskly, he straightens his tie and does a quick shoulder roll. The gleam in his eye is blinding.

Cynthia's caught off guard, to say the least. "You're certainly in a good mood!" she exclaims. "More so than usual for a Friday. Did you fuck the manager of the graduation shop yesterday?"

"Ah, Cynthia. You're always so good with the comic relief. Have I told you I recommended you for a raise to Ryder this morning?"

. . .

"Hey, Mikey! You're late. I went ahead and ordered you a beer." Brian's already had a shot of J.B. and is halfway through his Michelob Lite when Michael charges into Woody's. "How's everything down at the Big Q?"

"Fucked. Thanks for asking." Yanking on the bar stool beside Brian, Michael plops down heavily, scowl firmly affixed to his features. "I've had a for shit day," he spits out. "What's wrong with your mouth?" Draining his beer bottle in record time, he orders another. "You're gonna screw up your face permanently with that fucking grin. Cut that shit out."

"Christ. You're in a lovely mood." Brian's smile bounces back into place after he takes a long drink. "What happened now?"

"Fucking Tracy. The girl I work with. She wants me to go out with her to some breeder bar after work tomorrow with a few other people we work with. She thinks I'm straight, for fuck's sake!"

Brian's quite entertained. Mikey's always queening out about something. "I keep telling you . . . you've gotta come out at that stupid store. Just tell them you like cock and get it over with." Lighting a cigarette, he offers one to Michael.

"How long have you known me, Brian? Have you ever seen me smoke a cigarette?" Michael shakes his head in confusion. "What's wrong with you?"

"Sorry," Brian shrugs, returning it to the pack. "I forgot."

Michael still can't figure out why he won't quit smiling. "How long have you been here? Did you get blown in the bathroom again? Is that why you look like a goddamned laughing hyena?"

Brian puffs four perfectly symmetrical smoke rings into the air above the bar. "Mikey, chill," he tells his uptight friend. "Have another beer. I don't need to get blown in the bathroom."

"So who's the lucky son of a bitch tonight? That leather daddy at the end of the bar? He keeps giving you the eye. I bet he can't wait to bottom for you." Michael cracks a tiny grin, the image of a big burly ape submitting to Brian too funny to keep under wraps. Then he remembers one of the major reasons he's pissed. "Where the fuck were you last night? I sat in here for an hour and a half, and you never showed."

Brian's shocked that Emmett's rumor train hasn't reached Mikey's ears yet, surmising that he must have been too worked up over his Big Q coworkers and their evil plot to get him into a straight bar to talk to him that day. He debates the pros and cons of letting him hear about Justin's elevation to non-trick status from Emmett and Ted. Not a good idea. The cons win by a landslide. "I was here yesterday," he informs Mikey. "It was in the afternoon. I just missed you, that's all."

"The afternoon? You took off work in the afternoon to come to Woody's?"

"Of course, not. I took off work in the afternoon to look for Justin again. Then, after I found him, I stayed away from work longer so I could bring him here. We needed a drink." Brian smokes his cigarette and drinks his beer like there's no tomorrow, bracing for the fallout.

"Justin . . . You're taking off work and bringing him to bars in the middle of the afternoon because the two of you need a drink?" Michael glares at Brian as if he's suddenly grown two heads. "Isn't there some kind of law against that? Like contributing to the delinquency of a minor? What if his mommy finds out?"

Sarcasm. Sarcasm is good. Brian can work with that. "His mommy's cut the apron strings," he calmly enlightens Michael. "She's okay with the idea of him being all grown up, what with him having a kid and turning eighteen and all. She recognizes, along with the rest of the world, that he's a legal adult, making his own way. He starts working on Monday. And he's going to college in the fall."

Michael can only imagine how and why his best friend would know so much about Justin. Actually, he doesn't want to know. He recalls the scene he made in Babylon with his possessive antics toward the teenager - that'd been bad enough! Then he hadn't been able to think straight for weeks while he searched high and low for his little toy, virtually as if his life depended on it. And now, Michael frets, Brian can't keep from grinning like a loon. Seeing the writing on the wall, he doesn't like it one little bit.

"Brian, look! That guy sitting at the table by the window . . ." Setting his beer down on the bar, Michael points to a particularly zealous guy who salivates at the mouth every time he dares to look Brian's way. "He's practically undressed and waiting for you. He'd be a great quick fuck out in the alley!"

More dumb grinning. With dimples. At something he's thinking about. Not even caring about nameless ass to fuck.

Yup, Mikey's screwed, alright. Jesus! You think you know someone after fifteen years! "So . . . Justin . . ." He feels himself surrendering to the inevitable. "He's got a kid?"


	3. Chapter 3

VICE VERSA - CHAPTER THREE

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What took you so long to answer your phone?"

"I was changing Missy's diaper."

"Where's Daphne?"

"Soaking in a bubble bath. I told her I'd handle the baby for the rest of the night so she could have some time to herself."

"Let me know how feeding time goes."

"Asshole. We're starting to give her some formula now."

"What are you wearing?"

"What am I wearing?"

"I want to picture you all spread out on your bed for me while I rip your clothes off and kiss every inch of your body."

"Shorts and a baby spit-up covered tee shirt. Sorry to ruin your fantasy."

"Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"I think Missy's really lucky to have you for a dad."

-silence-

"Hello?"

"I . . . I'm here . . . I just . . . Brian, fuck, I can't wait to see you again. Monday seems so far away."

"So let's see each other before Monday."

"Really?"

"Hell, yeah. How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Okay. What do you want to do?"

"Why don't you come over to the loft? I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? Is it good or bad? Do I even want to know?"

"Oh, you want to know. I've been planning it ever since I fucked your brains out in my Jeep yesterday."

"Fuck. This is just wrong."

"What?"

"I'm getting hard, and I'm over here all by myself. Not fair."

"So you'll just have to jerk off thinking about us fucking like mad."

"Yeah . . . It's not like that hasn't happened about a thousand times already."

"How do you think I survived an entire month while I was looking for you?"

"You jerked off thinking about fucking me?"

"No."

"No?"

"I jerked off thinking about kissing you. Kissing your face. Kissing your lips. Kissing that place on the side of your neck. Kissing your dick. Kissing your ass. Kissing-"

"Aaaahhhh! Jesus fucking Christ! Shit!"

"Is anything wrong?"

"Fuck! Geez . . . I'm standing here washing baby bottles in the kitchen sink, and you made me come."

"Happy to help out. Wish I was there to lick it up."

"Now I've gotta change before Daphne sees me."

"Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't wait to see you again. Tomorrow seems so far away. Can you come over in the morning?"

"Sure. Saturday morning. At your loft. Getting my surprise. I think I need a cold shower."

"Shit! Michael and Ted are downstairs, ringing the buzzer. How about if I let you go, and I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Okay."

"Later."

"Later."

. . .

"Justin? Can you get the door?" Daphne calls out from her bathroom, words garbled with toothpaste and water. "Tell September I'll be right out."

Greeting their friend with Missy tucked in the crook of his arm, Justin holds his daughter firmly against his side in a football hold. "Hey, September. Come on in. How's it going?"

"Hi, Justin. Oh, she's such a cutie! I can't believe you guys really had a baby! This is a cool place."

"Thanks," Justin nods, September's multiple sentence in one breath routine remarkably similar to Daphne's. "Do you want a cup of coffee? I think there's some left in the pot."

"No, no. I'm good. So how are you guys?"

"We're excellent!" Daphne answers, crossing the living room to hug her friend from high school. "Everything happened so fast - the baby, graduation, moving in here. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming!" She pours herself one more half-cup of coffee. "Sit down. I haven't seen you in forever. How was prom?"

Justin changes Missy out of her snuggly sleeper into a clean diaper and outfit for the day, easily hearing the girls' conversation since the alcove that doubles as the baby's room isn't enclosed and has no door. He shakes his head in disgust at the homophobic classmate they'd had when September relates the big incident.

"You won't believe this, Daph! Chris Hobbs was such a prick. You know how he's been tormenting Tyler and Jake all year just because they're gay? Well, they'd been hanging out together at the prom, and he followed them to the parking garage when they left. I don't know how he got a hold of a baseball bat, but one of the chaperones was down there and stopped him just as he was about to swing at Tyler's head. Everybody was talking about it the whole night."

"Jesus!" Daphne gasps. "That fucking asshole. He used to make Justin's life miserable, too, during junior year, but I never thought he'd get violent."

"You guys should have seen it," September goes on. "We started clapping and cheering when Dean Hanson kicked him out. He so deserved it. His girlfriend just stood there, close to tears. She was so embarrassed."

Daphne sighs, remembering that night all too well. Justin can't see her, but he knows that shoulder thing she does. "Yeah, well, I was so huge right then. They don't even make prom dresses that big. I had Missy the next week. I told Justin he should go and have a good time, but he wouldn't. He stayed home and helped me practice my Lamaze breathing instead."

Fucking Hobbs, Justin thinks. He was always a bully, even before senior year. Carrying his freshly powdered and dressed daughter down the hall to his room, he lays her in the center of his bed while he gets ready to leave, his face stuck in permanent smile mode as he wonders again what Brian's cooked up for him. "You be good for your mom. I won't be gone too long," he tells Missy, arming himself with wallet, keys, phone, and cigarettes.

"I don't know," Daphne says to September, Justin walking back into the living room with Missy propped against his shoulder. "I don't think they'd appreciate a fussy baby at that nice restaurant."

"What restaurant?"

"Chez Armand's. Some of the girls from school are meeting there for lunch . . . but I'll go another time."

Justin's happy that Daphne's friends want her to join them. He doesn't mind rearranging his plans a bit. "It's okay," he tells her. "Why don't you go? Missy can come with me."

"Are you sure? I can have lunch with them anytime. It doesn't have to be today."

"Here." He hands her the baby. "You're going. Just let me pack her bag."

"Daphne, you're so lucky," he hears September say as he gathers all the supplies he'll need to take care of his daughter. "I hope I marry someone just like Justin."

Girls, he laughs to himself.

. . .

Checking the time again, Brian wonders what the fuck is taking Justin so long. He's unable to suppress a wide smile when he finally hears him knock, slipping into his black leather jacket and sliding his door open all the way.

"Oh! Is that . . .? Fuck! It is!" Hurtling himself into Brian's arms, Justin slumps against his body, the scent of cool, smooth leather flooding his olfactory sense. Arms encircling him, the palms of his hands run up and down Brian's back, his fingertips alive with the soft sensation. "I can't believe you did this!" Closing his eyes, he inhales deeply. "You planned to answer the door in this jacket just to drive me insane, didn't you? Well, it's working," he confirms. "I'm officially insane!"

"Then my work here is done." Brian peels his boy off of himself and drags him inside. Just about to clank the door shut, he espies an important piece of cargo nestled in her fleecy yellow blanket and lying beside the loft's entrance in her stroller. "Whoa! You brought the munchkin!" he calls out, checking the rest of the area for similar startling discoveries.

"Missy!" Justin jolts back into the land of responsible dads. "Yeah, I hope you don't mind. Daphne's friends invited her to a fancy French restaurant, and I wanted her to be able to go with them." Steering the stroller and heavily laden diaper bag hanging around its handles through the door, he tells Brian, "She'll probably sleep in here for awhile. This is her morning nap time."

"Enter, my little princess," Brian says to Missy, a flourishing arm gesture welcoming her in. "My castle is your castle." Scrambling to come up with a Plan B for the day as the original will no longer work, he notes that looking at, talking to, touching, and kissing Justin will have to suffice. "Do you want anything?" he asks him. "Coffee? Guava juice? Water? What about Missy? What does she need?"

"Relax," Justin says, parking the stroller next to the sofa and sinking down into the cushions. "I brought everything with me she'll need, and the only thing I need is you. Your whole loft smells like leather," he quickly adds. "Is that like a new air freshener or something? How did you know I go apeshit for leather?"

Plopping down beside him, Brian gives Justin a quick kiss. "In my jeep . . . riding me senseless . . . shouting out praises to the gods of leather . . . any of this ringing a bell?" His lips fold together endearingly, Justin slightly abashed. "I couldn't wait to indulge you with multiple sources of leather," he confesses.

"Multiple?"

"You do remember I promised you a surprise today?" Brian starts to take off his jacket, preparing to move Justin into phase two of the surprise.

"Leave that on. I need to see you in that longer," Justin commands, brushing his hands over Brian's leather-covered arms. "So there's more?"

"Feel free to roam around and explore. I'll watch Her Majesty. I think you'll find the bedroom of particular interest."

"You want me to explore? What'd you do? Distribute leather all over the place because I was coming over?" Walking toward the bedroom after Brian nods in the affirmative, Justin doesn't know what to expect, but he's impressed with the idea of so much thought going into his visit. "Can you take her out of that stroller?" he asks when Missy has other ideas about a morning nap, her complaints too loud to ignore. "Get that blanket off of her. She's warm. The pacifier is somewhere in there, or maybe just get another one out of the diaper bag."

Carefully lifting Missy free from her blanket, Brian's happy to help out, the baby thankful for his attention and soon babbling contentedly in his lap. His gaze follows Justin into the bedroom, detecting the exact moment he spots the thoughtfully laid out items on the pillow from the way he stops short in his tracks.

"Shackles?!" Justin shouts. "Leather shackles? Brian, come and tie me up! Right now! Put the baby back in the stroller!" Examining the sex toys closely, he inhales their rich, earthy essence, his right hand quickly fastening one of the manacles around his left wrist. The feel of his favorite fabric on his skin wakes his sleeping dick as he dreams of the next available opportunity they'll have for Brian to pound his ass into the mattress. It can't come soon enough. "Brian," he says playfully, "I think I love you."

Brian feels quite comfortable handling Missy; he's even figured out the trick to get her to use the pacifier. Currently, he'd like nothing more than to welcome the day her father will say those words to him and mean them in earnest. "Keep hunting," he tells Justin. "There's more."

"My nose is leading me this way," Justin says, wandering over to Brian's dining room table. Sure enough, a pair of sleek chocolate brown leather pants is slung over the back of one of the chairs. "These are great! Why aren't they on you instead of this chair?" The buttery softness of the garment wreaks havoc on his not-limp dick. "You just bought them?" he exclaims when the sales tag falls from the inside of the waistband.

"Look at the size. I didn't buy them for me."

"You bought them for me? You're fucking unbelievable!" Justin rushes back over and stands by Brian. "I don't know what to say. I'm hard just thinking about putting them on."

"So try them on already," Brian laughs, Justin's leather kink successfully rubbing off on him. "Put us both out of our misery." He pulls his boy down for a kiss with his free hand.

"I will. But I think Missy's getting hungry. See how she's rooting around, looking for something?" Unzipping the baby's bag, Justin finds a bottle, a cloth diaper, and a single serving can of formula. "You can feed her while I try them on. I'm gonna use your microwave for thirty seconds, okay? Or I can feed her if you don't want to."

"Bring me the bottle, Justin, and get those pants on your ass." Brian looks down at Missy in his arms and apologizes to her, yet commits the same infraction in the next breath. "I've been thinking about your ass in those pants all morning."

Testing a drop of formula from the bottle on the inside of his forearm, Justin grins at Brian with a yearning held at bay. "Put this over her to sop up the drips, and you can use it to dab at her mouth when the backwash spews out," he says, handing Brian the cloth diaper and Missy's bottle.

"Backwash? Spewing?"

"Do you want my ass in these anytime soon?" Justin holds up the leather pants.

"What's a little backwash?"

"Give her a short break when she gets half of it down so she can digest it, then give her the rest." Justin makes his way through Brian's bedroom and into the bathroom. "Thanks," he calls out, closing the door.

Before his jeans are around his ankles, his cock springs upward. He'd left his underwear at home. Stroking his hard-on, Justin steps out of the pile of denim at his feet, his other hand crushing the folds of supple leather into his chest. If he can't have Brian's cock up his ass or Brian's lips locked on his dick, he thinks, this will have to do.

Aching for sweet release, he doesn't have to wait long, his come shooting all over the bathroom floor as he leans backward onto the basin. Soon scouting around for something to sop up his own spewed out emission, he grabs a dirty towel from Brian's hamper, bending to wipe up the tile.

Stuffing his now-tamed dick into the crotch of his new pants, a fast glance into the bathroom mirror points out how dismally his purple tee shirt clashes. Ripping it off, Justin finds Brian and Missy bonding over a bottle of Enfamil and a little backwash. "How's it going out here?" he asks them, padding barefoot across the living room in his skin tight leather pants.

"Couldn't be better." Brian realizes Missy's made quick work of attaching herself to his psyche, her tiny fist clasped tightly around his index finger. "I think she adores me."

"Goo," Missy gurgles.

"See?"

Justin laughs, taking another cloth diaper out of Missy's bag. "Let me burp her," he says. "I'll show you how for next time." Placing the rag over his bare shoulder, he takes the baby from Brian, propping her upright onto it. "You just rub her back upwards a few times, then pat her gently so the air in her tummy comes up." Pacing back and forth in front of the sofa, he burps his cooing daughter.

Studying the outline of Justin's dick as it presses into the confining material, Brian promptly remembers something he needs to take care of. "I'll be right back," he says. "I forgot I had something for Missy."

"What?"

"Hang on." Disappearing into his room, Brian opens a few drawers and closet doors before barricading himself in his bathroom, where he can't get to his cock fast enough. The image of half-clad Justin parading around burns a hole through his eyelids as he works on himself fast and furiously.

He comes in fits and starts to the fantasy of his throbbing cock shoved so far up Justin's asshole he'll never find it again, his whole body heaving with the pleasure it produces. The next time they're alone, he vows, he's going to fuck that boy so hard he's not going to be able to sit for a week.

"Here it is!" Brian opens his bathroom door, retrieving the small pink teddy bear he'd bought the day Missy was born from a shelf in his linen closet. He's happy he hasn't had a chance to give it to her before now, sauntering over to do just that.

"Brian, thank you for doing this. It's so cool." Justin sits on the floor, changing Missy's diaper. "Answering the door in that jacket, the restraints, which I can't wait to get into, these pants . . . all of it. You did it just for me." He smiles at the stuffed animal in Brian's hand. "And you've even gotten something for Missy."

"You like leather. Now I like leather. I'd say it's a win-win situation." Brian holds the teddy bear where Missy can see it. "And I got out of changing her diaper. I'm on a roll."

"But pay attention to these sticky tabs on the sides. I'm sure you're gonna end up changing her one of these days."

Brian raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"For me?"

"How do they work? Show me."

. . .

"I still wish you would have let me wear my new pants," Justin jokes, holding the door to the Liberty Diner open while Brian pushes Missy's stroller through it. "I could have borrowed a shirt from you that would have looked better with them than this purple thing I wore today."

"In this meat market? With you all commando under there? I'd need a squad of attack dogs to keep all the studs and bears off of you." Brian gives Justin a kiss on his cheek as forty-three diner patrons turn in his direction at once, all of them wondering how the hell they got trapped inside a Twilight Zone episode.

Brian Kinney? Whipped? There's no way.

Forty-three pairs of eyes follow him, his hot twink, and their baby stroller to the booth in the back corner, not believing what they're seeing. So the rumors are true. God's gift to gay Pittsburgh has been MIA because he's met someone. The incredulous crowd turns its attention to the boy who can't be more than a day over twenty. He certainly doesn't look like a magician.

"Oh! Look who's here . . . it's Brian and Justin!" Emmett claps his hands in celebration when he sees his friends walking toward him, pushing the real-life version of the baby he'd seen on Justin's phone a few days earlier. "You guys can sit with us. Scooch over Teddy. Make room."

"That's okay, Theodore," Brian says. "We'll slide in over here on this side, right next to Mikey. You won't mind, will you, Mikey?"

Michael takes in the Brian and Justin phenomenon, complete with darling baby girl in tow. "Why would I mind? I can get intimate with the wall here, giving you two plenty of room." Moving his milk shake out of the way, he watches Brian lower himself to the center of the bench seat, pulling Justin down with him halfway onto his lap.

"Justin, she's the cutest baby I've ever seen," Emmett gushes, leaning down toward Missy's stroller at the end of the table. "Where did you get that precious little dress for her? Torso just received a new line of baby clothes last week. You should see it. I wish I had a kid, just so I could dress it in all the newest baby fashions!"

Michael and Ted are all over that one. "Yeah, Emmett," Michael deadpans. "All you need to do is find some guy to be the sperm donor."

"Then you could dress yourself in all the newest maternity fashions," Ted adds.

Brian and Justin laugh and kiss . . . and kiss . . . and kiss, Justin almost all the way on Brian's lap now, Brian's arms squeezing tightly around his shoulders. Michael, Emmett, and Ted stop talking to observe. The din in the rest of the diner dies down also, the Twilight Zone audience trying to adapt.

Okay, so maybe Kinney's twink is a magician. That's as good an explanation as anyone can come up with as to how the former 'fuck 'em and run' king could have been broken in a little more than a month.

"Christ, Brian! Don't you have a loft two blocks from here?" Michael shakes his head.

Brian tears his face from Justin's with great difficulty. "Just waiting for the princess's mother to come and get her. Then we'll be out of here."

"Actually, I'm a little hungry," Justin says. "We should eat to keep up our strength." Giving Brian one more peck on the cheek, he reaches for the menu. "Aren't you guys having any lunch?" he asks their friends.

"Already ordered," Ted says.

"Brian, do you want to look at the menu with me?" Justin remembers the bacon cheeseburger he'd eaten the night he'd been in the diner with Michael, telling Brian he'll just go with it again.

"I've had that thing memorized for twelve years." Brian nods at the menu. "Deb knows what to bring me."

"Deb?"

"My mom," Michael says dryly. "The larger than life, redheaded fag hag who served us when we were in here. I'm sure she must have made an impression on you. Or scarred you for life. One or the other."

"Speak of the devil," Emmett and Ted say.

"Brian Kinney? Is that you? Where the fuck have you been? I haven't seen your ass in ages." Debbie smacks her gum, cackling to her surrogate son. Nearing their booth, she's taken aback by the sight of Missy sleeping next to Justin. "And who do we have here?" she asks the boy she doesn't recognize.

"Debbie, this is Justin Taylor," Brian tells her, "my . . . um, uh . . . boyfriend." His lips roll inward against each other with the revelation. "Justin, this is Debbie Novotny, Michael's mom. And my second mom while we were growing up."

"Boyfriend. Uh huh. Justin Taylor," Debbie repeats. "I think I remember serving you and Michael awhile back. He was trying to warn you about Romeo here. Obviously, it didn't take."

"Obviously," Ted confirms.

"Hi, Debbie." Justin smiles.

"Look at this absolute angel," she baby talks into the stroller. "Does she come with you, Justin? That's a dumb question. Of course, she does. She looks just like you . . . almost . . . well, with a different color sk . . . um . . ."

"Jesus, Ma!" Michael cringes. "It's been so long since you've put your foot in your mouth. I thought you'd lost your touch!"

"This is Melissa Victoria Taylor," Brian intercedes. "Missy, for short. Her mother, Justin's best friend since grade school, will be coming to pick her up pretty soon."

"Yeah," Justin continues. "I can't wait for all of you to meet Daphne. She's such a great mother to Missy."

Emmett volunteers to recount Justin's gay teenaged father saga to the tactless Debbie with intermittent details supplied by Ted.

"Well, good for you, honey," Debbie approves. "You may be the most responsible eighteen-year-old I've ever run across. Michael and Brian were still jerking off to magazine photos of Patrick Swayze when they were your age. This is one lucky little baby. And she truly is gorgeous. I didn't mean anything . . . before . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, okay, Deb. Can we order now?" Brian cuts her off. "Justin's gonna collapse from starvation if he doesn't get some lunch. He wants the bacon cheeseburger. Hold the E. coli. Tell Mac to thoroughly cook it. I'll have my usual." Excusing himself to go to the men's room, he kisses Justin as if he's leaving for Siberia.

"I'll bring these right out." Debbie tears their orders off her pad, tucking her pink and purple pen behind her ear on her way to the kitchen.

Looking over at Michael as if he were a good friend, Justin smiles genuinely. Hoping at the very least for a détente in their Cold War, he thinks he sees a softening in his stance. "Oh, that's Daphne," he says, reaching for the vibrating phone in his pocket. Flipping it open, he reads her text message and quickly types his reply. "She'll be here in ten minutes," Justin tells the guys, snapping his phone shut. "She just had lunch with her friends at Chez Armand's, and now they all want to see the baby. Daphne's gonna come and take her so she can show her off."

Arriving at the booth with five plates of food, Debbie hands them out at the same time Brian shows back up from the men's room.

"No," he says to a random member of gay Pittsburgh, who's followed him out of the bathroom.

"Come on . . . Saturday night at Babylon. I'll make it worth your while."

"No," Brian repeats, slipping behind Deb into the booth again. "Hey," he says to Justin, kissing his lips.

Justin cocks his head sideways, eyes fixed on Brian's. "Who's this guy?"

"Nobody."

"Hey! I'm not nobody!" Nobody protests. "Don't you remember? A few months ago in Woody's? You were checking me out."

"Is that true?" Justin asks Brian.

"Probably." Draping his arms over Justin's shoulders, Brian pulls him back onto his lap. "Tell him to fuck off."

"Fuck off."

"Who's this guy?" Nobody dares to inquire.

"His boyfriend," Emmett, Ted, Michael, and Debbie sing out as one.

"Your boyfriend?" Nobody laughs. "You're Brian Fucking Kinney! You don't do boyfriends. You're supposed to fuck me and kick me out. It's the eleventh commandment!"

Taking a bite of his turkey sandwich, Brian's more than ready to end this inane intrusion. He turns back toward Justin and, for once, doesn't kiss him. Their eyes lock together during their tacit conversation, eerily reminiscent of the one they'd had in Babylon while banishing tricks and igniting electrical sparks from somewhere deep within. Justin may be only eighteen, yet, as Debbie had intimated, he's wise beyond his years. Brian may be twenty-nine, yet he's a spontaneous soul, chasing the high only Justin can produce. He, in turn, is youth at its carefree best.

Brian's closest friends witness firsthand his intoxication with Justin and Justin's seemingly innate understanding of the man on every level. "Fuck off!" they decide to reiterate to Nobody just in case he doesn't see it for himself, their voices blending as one and their faces aiming daggers at him.

"What was that all about?"

Justin hardly recognizes Missy's mom, who's spent the whole morning getting all dolled up. She looks prettier and thinner than she's looked in about ten months. "Wow!" He stands and takes Daphne's hand, giving her the once-over as if he's straight.

"What was that all about?" she asks again, the stranger slowly beating a path away from the booth. "Who was that?"

The guys and Debbie join in when Brian and Justin chant quite loudly, "Nobody!"

"Guys, this is Daphne," Justin tells the gang, "Missy's mother and my best friend. Daphne," still holding her hand, he gestures to each person he names, "this is Debbie, Michael, Emmett, and Ted. They're Brian's friends, and mine now, too."

"Hi," she says to one and all. "Sorry, Brian, that Justin had to bring the baby this morning. He made me go to lunch with my friends. I told him - "

"Daphne, you look hot!" Brian interrupts her. "Did you have a good time?"

"Well, yeah, I did."

"That's all that matters. The little princess was in good hands. I gave her a bottle and learned all about the sticky tabs on her Pampers."

Daphne throws a question marked expression Justin's way.

"It's a long story," he shrugs.

"Well, September and the girls are out in the car," she says. "They can't wait to see the baby. It was nice to meet all of you." Scanning the faces of Brian and Justin's friends, she receives warm smiles and compliments on Missy all around.

"She had her bottle at ten-thirty," Justin reports. "You should be good 'til about two-thirty or three. Oh, wait! My sketch pad!" Delving to the very bottom of Missy's diaper bag, he pulls out the one item that rarely leaves his side. "Here you go," he laughs, hanging the bag back onto the stroller's handles. He tells Brian he'll be right back and plants a kiss on his mouth before heading to the door with Daphne and Missy.

"Brian, he's . . ."

"I know," Brian answers Emmett.

"Brian, I think I'd gladly fork over a year's salary to be you for just one day."

"I know," he answers Ted.

"Where's he going?"

"To transfer the baby seat from his car to Daphne's car," he answers Michael.

"Brian, I'm so fucking proud of you!"

"I know," he answers Deb.

Brian's pretty fucking proud of himself, too. Everything about his boy appeals to him. And it's an overwhelming relief to have his obsession with Justin out in the open. He hopes his friends are coming to the realization that a leopard can indeed change its spots.

Even Michael seems to be accepting the new world order, turning to Brian with the intention of restoring their previous harmony. If having a boyfriend makes him happy, he figures he can learn to live with it. It's not like he hasn't always known that Brian considers him a brother, never entertaining the foggiest notion of being his lover. "So she's . . . um . . . that's some best friend Justin's got there," he says. "She's beautiful. It's obvious how close they've always been."

"Like with us?" Brian smiles at him, eyes sparkling. With Mikey finally on board, his new life feels complete. "Yeah, you should hear them together. They sound just like us." Stealing a french fry off of Justin's plate, he pops it into his mouth.

"I saw that. Brian, can I talk to you? Over here?" Returning to the booth, Justin points to an area out of earshot from the guys instead of sitting down.

"What is it?" Brian asks, promptly following him. "Got the princess all settled in? Have I told you how stellar your ass looks today?"

"Brian, if you don't take me back to your loft right this minute and fuck the living shit out of me, I swear I'm gonna internally combust, and then you're gonna have to put out all the little fires in this diner that causes." Hands in his back pockets, Justin's chest protrudes forward. The air of authority he exercises over Brian does something to both their dicks.

"We gotta go," Brian says, slinging his arm over Justin's shoulders back at the booth. Digging in his wallet for money, he tosses more than enough to cover their lunches and a big tip for Debbie onto the table. "We'll see you guys later."

"What? You're leaving?" Emmett asks in disbelief. "You hardly ate a thing, Brian. And Justin didn't even touch his plate!"

"Something came up."

Every one of them bursts into raucous laughter at the stale cliché.

"Later," Michael waves, making eye contact with Justin to signify the end of the Cold War. He goes back to his lunch with a good feeling.

"Much later," Ted laughs, pondering how sweet it must be to have an eighteen-year-old hunk needing to get into your pants that badly. He decides to keep his year's salary. He doesn't think he could even handle it.

"See ya, Bri," Emmett chirps. "You too, Justin." He laughs to himself at Brian's irritation, calling him Bri occasionally just to provoke him.

Saying good-bye to Debbie with their arms linked around the other's waist, Brian Kinney and his boyfriend don't even notice the forty-three pairs of eyes that follow them out of the diner as the Pittsburgh Daily News typesets the following morning's headline: HELL FREEZES OVER!

. . .

Justin points the remote on his key chain at his Explorer, unlocking it in haste from ten feet away. "Hurry! I'm not kidding, Brian. I need you to fuck me!"

"Well, drive this thing. It should take two minutes to get there." Brian slides into the SUV, picking up the sketch pad Justin had thrown into the passenger side when he'd unhooked Missy's seat. "Mind if I look at this? You must be pretty talented if you got into PIFA."

"I don't care if you don't care." Justin pulls away from the diner, physically aching for Brian.

"What? Why would I care?" Brian thumbs through the pages, lingering over numerous renderings of Daphne, Missy, and picturesque landscapes among other things. Not expecting anything like what he finds, he's duly impressed, especially when he gets to the abstract drawings. Spending time on each one, he finds hidden elements in them the longer he studies them. "Jesus, Justin," he gasps. "You drew all these? You're really good. No wonder PIFA wants you."

Justin acknowledges the praise with a smile, waiting for the reaction that's sure to come.

"Fuck! When did you do this one?" Brian scrutinizes several sketches near the back of the book. "And this one?! And . . . shit! We look really hot!"

"You like those?" Justin hadn't been entirely sure he was going to show Brian how he'd been passing the time on nights when his yearning for him literally took over his sensibilities. Recreating some of their steamier moments together with pencil and parchment had been his savior on more than a few occasions.

"Has anyone ever seen these?"

"No. Why?"

"Just wondering. My cock looks really huge in these drawings!"

"Your cock IS really huge! I'll race you up the stairs . . . winner gets to top in round two!" Throwing his car into park, Justin cuts the engine abruptly. He outruns Brian to the back entrance of the building, waiting impatiently for him to unlock it.

Brian nearly pulls a muscle sprinting up six flights of steps, his lanky frame beating Justin by a couple of seconds. Some incentives serve incredibly well.

"You're fast. I guess you top today," Justin pants, unbuckling Brian's belt and unzipping his fly while he tries to unlock the door to the loft.

"And every day after that, too," Brian grins, sliding the door open and dragging him inside by the arm. "God, I've wanted to fuck you all morning!" Swiftly yanking Justin's tee shirt up over his head, he throws it haphazardly onto the sofa and pushes his tongue between his lips. Brian's hands travel over Justin's bare shoulders and make their way up the sides of his neck, his mouth seeking out the sensitive skin below his ear. When he opens his button-fly jeans and pushes them down over his narrow hips, they fall to the floor in a heap, Justin's naked ass finally free for the taking.

Brian finishes sucking on the side of his neck, Justin's bobbing erection poking him in the thigh. Since his plan all along has been to shackle him to the bed and fuck his tight little hole for hours, he drops to his knees to take care of his throbbing hard-on first. Reaching around to caress his fleshy ass cheeks, Brian's tongue darts out to taste the head of his cock before he takes Justin's entire shaft deeply into his mouth and sucks hard, his hands pushing him back and forth from behind.

"I'm gonna come in your mouth if you don't st . . . Oh, fuck! Aaaahhhh!" Dizzy with the pull in his balls, Justin pumps all of his come down Brian's throat, his whole body quivering.

Kissing the tip of his softening cock, Brian whispers, "I think we have some business with leather to take care of." Discarding his own clothes, he pulls his boy across the loft and up the three steps into his bedroom. "Get comfortable," he grins. "This may take awhile."

Justin crawls over the bed, lying down in the center of it on his back. He shivers with anticipation when Brian fastens the shackle he'd worn on his left wrist all morning to the corner of the bed. "Do you think the guys noticed it in the diner?" he asks. "I just didn't want to take it off."

"Oh, they noticed it. Didn't you see Emmett and Ted drooling?"

"Not exactly. Guess I was too busy making out with you."

Brian holds up the other manacle. "Do you want me to put this one on you, too?" Gazing at his boy, all naked and beautiful and getting hard again, his protective instincts override his wanton desire. "You won't be able to get free until I unfasten them. It's a weird feeling."

"Do it! I want to be tied down while you ravage my entire body. That's all I've been thinking about since I saw them this morning."

"You sure? I'm gonna lick you and and tease you and fuck you 'til you can't see straight. That's all I've been thinking about since this morning."

"Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you care about me?"

"How could you not know how much I care about you?"

"Would you ever hurt me?"

"Justin, I will never, ever hurt you. That's a promise."

"Please tie me down and fuck me all day and night! Please?!"

Slipping the thick band around Justin's right wrist, Brian's cock grows harder when he fastens it to the other corner of the bed. He strokes himself with long, slow movements.

Justin opens his mouth, clearly wanting to help.

"Just a taste," Brian warns. "I need a ramrod-hard cock to stick in you. Repeatedly." On his knees, straddling his mouth, the feel of his boyfriend's plump lips surrounding his dick is pure bliss. "That's enough," he makes himself say after Justin sucks the pre-come from his cock. Climbing away from his face, Brian lies between his legs, licking the puckered folds of skin around Justin's asshole.

Soon grabbing the ankle restraints, he wonders if Justin's still game to use them. His dick twitches when he nods with glazed-over eyes. Taking his time with each cuff, he pulls Justin's legs apart and fastens them to the bed, careful not to hurt him with the stretch. "I've never seen anything so fucking hot." Moistening his palms with lube, he grips Justin's cock, smiling when his hips buck up against the friction. "Patience," Brian utters after jerking him a few times, lying down between his legs again.

Tied down like a spread eagle, Justin revels with sensation, his hole opening as Brian fingers him. Moaning with desire, he oozes pre-come onto his flat, boyish stomach.

"That's it . . ." Brian groans, ". . . so fucking hot."

"Fuck me, Brian. I want you inside me."

Rolling on a condom, Brian lubes his eager cock before freeing Justin's ankles and quickly putting them up onto his shoulders. Inching his cock further and further inside his hot opening, he shoves his balls up against Justin's ass as far as they'll go. The sight of his boy's still-tied wrists fueling him with lust-driven energy, he thrusts in and out for an inhuman length of time. His balls tingle when they slap against Justin's ass over and over, the head of his dick ramming into his prostate on every push.

"Fuck, Brian! I'm gonna . . . aaahhh!" Justin's come shoots out between them, his asshole clenching tightly around Brian's pumping cock. Panting for breath, his heartbeat races. "I can't believe you can fuck me like this!" he cries, his convulsing hole wrenching the come out of Brian in fiery, jagged streaks.

Filling the condom to its breaking point, Brian struggles with his own attempts to breathe normally. Sliding Justin's legs from his shoulders, he gently falls down onto his body, his contracting muscles starting to ease.

"There's only one more thing I want," Justin murmurs, his legs wrapping around Brian's affectionately.

"One more thing?" Brian worries. "I think I just gave you everything I had."

"To hold you."

Brian reaches up, loosening Justin's wrists from bondage. "That can be arranged," he laughs.

Hurrying his arms around Brian's body, Justin squeezes contentedly, his thoughts materializing into words with ease. "Brian?" he says softly into the side of his face, "I know you won the race up the stairs, but . . ."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You want to fuck me."

"Well . . ."

"No."

"That's it? You sound so adamant. Is there something I should know about?"

Brian disengages from Justin's hold, distinctly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. "I'm a top," he mumbles, reaching for his cigarettes on the nightstand. "You're a bottom. I say, if it ain't broke, don't fix it." Lighting up, he sits on the side of the bed to smoke.

With Brian so far away, Justin can deal with feeling as if half of himself is missing, but the emotional distance between them smarts. "Nothing's broken," he ventures. "I just thought . . ."

"Not gonna happen, Justin. Let's talk about something else." Brian bristles at his own words, toying with the notion of retracting them. Twisting around to make eye contact with the person he'd least like to hurt, he absorbs the doleful expression on Justin's face. "I'm not trying to be a prick," he explains. "It's just . . ." Extending his arm out, he tries for redemption. "Come here."

Justin sits halfway up to clasp his hand, whatever offense taken losing its bite. He feels Brian's grip on his hand tighten, drawing him close. "It's okay," he says quietly. "I guess this is a sore subject for you or something. Don't worry about it. I like things just fine the way they are." Kissing his boyfriend with a probing tongue, he senses Brian's resistance dissipating. He takes a long drag on the cigarette when he offers it to him.

"Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"The idea of your dick up my ass isn't completely despicable to me, you know. It's just . . . just . . . um . . ."

Waiting patiently, Justin communicates with Brian in their language called No Words Required. He's figured out the key to reading him always lies in his eyes. He swears he sees love in them. Yep. It's in there. Right next to the apprehension. In back of the uncertainty.

"You know I've never had a boyfriend before."

"Yeah, I know."

"I've always been the one to . . . to . . . Shit! You already know I've fucked just about everyone in this burg before I met you."

"Slutty Brian. I've heard of him."

Brian takes his time snuffing the cigarette out into the ashtray on the nightstand, mustering his thoughts. "Despite my illustrious past," he begins, "there's one fact that may be missing in your perception of it." Looking away, he considers chucking the whole damn thing and just going with his basic 'no' again, but he quickly decides Justin's worth an explanation. "I'm still . . ."

Justin gets what the anxiety's all about, his heart bursting out of his chest.

"Christ! I've never been fucked!" The words tumble from Brian's mouth unchecked. "My ass is probably tighter than yours was that first night. Frankly, I'm a little, you know, scared?" Turning his face back toward Justin coyly, his lips press together, one shoulder raising with a mind of its own.

"Been saving yourself for me?" Justin's grin breaks into Brian's fear. He feels his hand on the back of his neck, sweeping him into a long kiss.

"I guess I have been," Brian says softly at the end of it. "But . . ."

"Say no more." Justin places a fingertip onto Brian's lips. "When you're ready, you're ready. Even if you're never ready, that's okay, too, because you know why?" Rising from the bed, he pulls Brian by the hand toward the bathroom.

"Because you love being my bottom boy?"

"Because I love being your bottom boy in the shower!"


	4. Chapter 4

VICE VERSA - CHAPTER FOUR

Embracing under a hot, steamy spray, Brian kisses his boy playfully, more than sufficiently convinced of his fondness for bottoming - especially in the shower. "What did you use to wipe up your come this morning?" he asks, not able to keep from grinning.

"A dirty towel from your hamper. You?"

"An old sponge under the sink I was gonna throw away."

"I just couldn't help it," Justin laughs. "Brian, you outdid yourself with the surprise."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't help myself either. Your bare cock bulging under those tight pants was driving me fucking crazy."

"I guess we're lucky, huh?" Kissing Brian's wet chest in several places, Justin's hands slide up his arms, over his shoulders, and around his neck. "I mean that I was hanging out under that streetlight and you happened to pick me up for a quick fuck."

Peering into Justin's radiant eyes, Brian sees a courageous soul before him: someone who hadn't been afraid to stand up to him and fight for what he'd wanted, someone for whom honesty is the root of all things - their common denominator. He tries to recall if he's ever, in his entire life, looked into anyone else's eyes. "I'm sorry I was such a shit to you in the beginning," he confesses. "You were very brave to come over here and hunt me down that second night after what Michael told you about me. You know that spiel I gave you about not believing in . . . uh, only believing in fucking? That I'd had you once and it would never happen again? I'd spent years telling myself that was the only way to go. I really believed it."

Reaching up to turn off the nozzle, he grabs two plush Turkish towels from the rack outside the shower and wraps one around his waist, patting Justin's face and creamy white body dry with the other. "I knew I'd hurt you deeply by turning you away," he goes on. "I think that was the first time I'd ever given a damn about anyone's feelings other than my own. I didn't have a name for it yet, but the wind was knocked right out of my sails when you drove away in tears. It was only later that I realized it was called caring."

"Before you fucked that ugly guy you had in here, or after?"

Brian discards the wet towels, amused at the memory. "During, actually. I couldn't stop thinking about you," he admits as they step back into their jeans.

"That must be why you didn't mind all that much when I was stalking you in Woody's the third night, and following you to Babylon, and horning in on your impending smorgasbord of tricks." Shooting Brian a sidelong glance, Justin buttons up his fly. "I'm sly like that."

Brian nears Justin, both of them still shoeless and shirtless. "Thank fuck you're the persistent type," he avows, resting his forehead down on Justin's, their wet, uncombed hair mingling together. "Another emotion reared its head when those two tricks were mauling you to death on the dance floor. One that I was much quicker to identify."

"Extreme anger at my audacity?"

"Jealousy. I'd never felt that before either. It's like I've become a completely different person now that I've met you." Leaning slightly backward to admire his salvation, the corners of Brian's mouth turn upward, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"The new you. I like it." Justin smiles broadly, rising up on tiptoe to kiss Brian's mouth.

"The new me. Such an improvement. Thank you for not giving up on me when I pushed you away."

"Brian, I've never met anyone like you. The gay guys at St. James were so boring. I was starting to think I was doomed to live my life alone. Well, I've got Daphne and Missy, but you know what I mean. I thought I'd never find anyone to . . ."

Gazing at each other cosmically, their mode of communication transcends the spoken word, rivers of nonverbal concepts flowing between them with telepathic ease. Brian places his hand on the nape of Justin's neck, drawing him in for a lingering kiss. He still does his very best communicating that way. "It's nice," he whispers, unleashing a swarm of butterflies in Justin's stomach. "Sometimes I feel as if I'm eighteen, too . . . just starting my life."

"Nice," Justin repeats as they continue to dress, suddenly feeling more content with his life than he ever has before. Checking for his keys and phone, he feels around in the pockets of his jeans, his dick stirring when he thinks of the way Brian slid them down his hips so quickly and dropped to his knees to suck him off when they'd arrived back at the loft from the diner. "Brian?" he asks, an absolutely brilliant idea descending upon him from out of the blue.

"Hmm?"

"Will you come with me next weekend to my mom's? She's having a backyard barbecue. I just want you guys to get to know each other better. She was really great when I came out to my parents during freshman year. That's when my dad still lived with us. Daphne's parents are going to be there, too. Oh, and I want you to meet my little sister, Molly. She's ten."

"Next weekend?" Brian squints upward as if to channel his social secretary. "Let me check my calendar to see if I can squeeze you in. Yep, I can make it. Nothing on my schedule for the next year except you." Focusing back on Justin, his eyebrows raise and his lips fold together.

"Only one year?"

. . .

"Hang on a minute, Brian."

Daphne joins a leisurely reclining Justin out on the patio, where he taps the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray balanced atop his stomach, holding his phone to his ear with his other hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you," she says. "Can you listen for Missy while I run to the store for diapers? I just put her down a few minutes ago."

Checking his watch, Justin sees the time has gotten away from him. He'd called Brian on his way home from work, and that had been over an hour earlier. Their all-encompassing, engaging conversation had ranged from 'What are you wearing?' to 'If I go to the Ad Person of the Year banquet, will you come with me?' and had rounded the corner on 'Do you want to meet us at my mom's tomorrow, or do you want to come over here first and go with us?' flying by, as usual, in the blink of an eye. "We're out of diapers already?" he asks Daph, certain that she's mistaken. "I just bought a case of diapers."

"That was two and a half weeks ago, and I just put the last one on her. According to my calculations, we've got anywhere from one to three hours before she wakes up soaked, dirty, or both, needing another one."

"Our little poop machine. What would we do without her?" Justin shakes his head, mashing out his cigarette. When he and Daphne hear Brian laughing on the other end of the phone, they come to the simultaneous realization that he hasn't changed nearly enough diapers for someone who'd claimed the only reason he'd dropped by to visit on three different evenings during the past week was to see the baby. They plan to remedy that in a hurry. "I'll go," he tells Daph. "I told my mom I'd bring all the sodas, beer, and ice tomorrow, but I still haven't picked up any of it. I was going to go to the store an hour ago." Setting his ashtray down on the ground, Justin sits up and feels for his shoes under the chaise lounge.

"Uh huh." Daphne half smirks at the phone in his hand. "Tell Brian I said hi. Well, if you were going anyway . . . Now I don't have to miss What Not To Wear." Stepping back inside to watch her favorite show, she slides the patio door closed.

"I guess you heard all that?" Turning his attention back to his boyfriend, Justin works his feet into his Nikes without untying them. "I can't believe she goes through diapers so fast. I'm gonna have to make a run to the store."

"Just as long as you don't wear your leather pants," Brian warns. "They're only for me to see on you."

Now Justin's the one who's laughing. "You've made that abundantly clear. More than once. I'll only wear them for you. I promise."

"Right. Go get the little princess her Pampers, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Later."

"Later."

Since the leather fest on the previous Saturday, Brian had taken his lunch hour every day to coincide with Justin's at The Art Mart, meeting him in the Liberty Diner; Justin had gone over to the loft after work to hang out with him once; and he'd popped into the apartment to say hi three times, bringing a small toy for the baby on each visit.

Justin looks forward to having Brian and his mom get to know each other better, and he hopes Mr. and Mrs. Chanders will also take a liking to him. Going inside for his wallet and car keys, he asks Daphne if they need anything else from the store.

"I can't think of anything right now," she says. "Justin?"

"What?"

"Don't worry about tomorrow. Everyone's going to love Brian as much as we do."

"I know. I mean, I hope so. It's just . . . your parents. They've always known about me, but they've never seen me with anyone before. Do you think it's gonna be weird? Hell, even my mom and Molly . . . When they see me with Brian, I don't know how they'll react."

"Would you relax? You've found the coolest, most handsome guy on the planet. And he's nuts about you. Everyone's gonna be happy for you."

Leaning down toward her on the sofa, Justin gives her a hug and kisses her forehead. "This is why I love you, Daphne."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm wonderful." Smiling up at him, her face gets all squishy and happy. "Can you go get the diapers now?"

. . .

"Ma? Anybody home?" Brian lets himself into Debbie's house, loudly announcing his arrival. He's learned the hard way that she doesn't like anyone to sneak up on her when she's rattling pans and dishes around in the kitchen or running the water in the sink. "Ma?" he calls out again. "It's me. It smells good in here!"

"Fuck, Brian," Deb says into the oven, checking the casserole dish inside. "I'm not deaf. Why the hell are you shouting?" When she stands to face him, he sees she's been sparring with the marinara sauce again. It looks like the sauce won. "Hi, baby," she laughs, crossing the kitchen to strangle him into a tight bear hug.

"Christ!" he teases her, eyeing the red splotches covering her apron. "Did you have any sauce left to put in the lasagna?"

"Asshole," she retaliates. "Just wait til it comes out of the oven, then see if you think I don't know what I'm doing!"

Brian holds the palms of his hands up in front of his chest. "Truce," he declares, an impish grin on his face. "I'm sure it'll be mouth watering, as always. Thanks for doing this for me."

"Sit." Debbie plops down at her kitchen table to finish her coffee, Brian pouring himself a mug of the strong brew. "It'll be ready in about ten minutes. Did you tell them you're bringing something?" she wonders.

"No." He joins her at the table. "I don't know them very well yet. I just don't want to show up empty-handed. Contrary to public opinion, I wasn't raised in a barn."

"No, you weren't." Debbie pats the back of his hand. "Now that you've quit fucking everything that moves, you're a regular Prince Charming. Justin's a lucky guy. I've seen you two in the diner. You love him, don't you?"

"Jesus, Ma!" Recoiling away from her touch, Brian looks around the kitchen nervously. "That's an awfully fucking strong word! Why did you say that?" Rising from the table, he dumps the rest of his coffee down the drain, making a big ordeal out of rinsing his mug and putting it into the dishwasher. "Don't you need to check the lasagna? What if it's burning?"

"Brian, I just checked it. It needs ten more minutes. What are you so afraid of?"

"Afraid? I'm not afraid." Brian's brow furrows, his hand swiping through his hair. "It's just . . . um . . . Christ! I hate this! I have no fucking clue how to tell him," he fesses up, "and that scares the hell out of me! I've never loved anyone before - well, besides Mikey - and, you know, I'll always love him, but we're like brothers for Christ's sake! This thing with Justin is different. When I'm with him, I . . . I . . . fuck! I feel like a blithering idiot! I can't even put it into words." Pacing over to the back door, he stares out the window, frustrated by his inability to articulate his feelings.

"Oh, baby," Debbie heartens her pseudo son. "That's exactly what love does: tongue ties you and confounds you, overwhelms you with emotions you never knew you had, kicks your ass up and down the street until you let it in. We've all been there."

"I haven't." Brian turns back to face her. "Been running from it my whole life. Never thought it would ever waste its time on someone like me. Someone . . . who doesn't deserve it." The linoleum under his feet has suddenly turned into the most interesting thing in the house.

Fighting the urge to curse his parents and his horrendous childhood, Debbie selects her words carefully. "Brian, listen to me. Your father's alcoholism and all the pain it brought on you have no business keeping you from a full and loving existence. You're an adult now. You've made it through to the other side. You can choose to let it keep fucking with your head your whole life, or you can choose to liberate yourself from it." Nearing him as he stands by the back door in her kitchen, she senses he'd like to escape through it and flee as far away from this decision as he can possibly get. "Look at me." She gets up in his face, and he knows from experience that Debbie always gets what Debbie wants, so he looks at her. "If I ever hear you say you don't deserve to be loved again, I'm gonna personally beat your ass to a pulp! Any bruise or fat lip your father ever gave you is gonna look like child's play when I'm through with you. Do you hear me?"

Finding himself entangled within her maternal arms, Brian involuntarily breathes a sigh of relief. "Yes, Mom," he answers obediently.

"That's better, baby. You'll figure it out. Justin will help you." Unhanding him, she grabs a couple of pot holders to remove the lasagna from the oven. "You'll know when the time is right to tell him."

"Debbie?"

"Hmm?"

"What if he doesn't love me?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot," she's quick with her comeback. "That look on his face when you two are done fucking in the diner's bathroom . . . the way he touches you when you guys are eating lunch . . . the way he trusts you with that daughter of his - maybe he doesn't love you."

. . .

"Oh my God! Justin, look! There's your dad!" Spotting Craig Taylor's car as it drives away from Justin's mom's house, Daphne points wildly from the back seat, where she sits alongside Missy's tethered chair. "Do you think he saw us?" she asks, twisting the baby's pacifier into her mouth with the patented method she, Justin, and Brian have down to a science.

"Who knows? With that dickwad, anything's possible." Justin pulls up in front of his childhood home, parallel parking between Daphne's dad's sedan and a neighbor's car. He'd stolen a quick glance at his father as he'd idled in the driveway while dropping Molly off. "He could have looked right at me and been so disgusted he'd had to get out of here before he'd gone ballistic, or he could have not even recognized me. We haven't seen each other in three years. All I know is that he hates me."

Turning to Brian in the passenger side of his Explorer, Justin tries to will his hurt away. "What about you?" he ventures. "Did your coming out to your parents drive a wedge between them so deeply that their marriage ended in divorce, too?" He pushes the button in the driver's side door to unlatch the back cargo area, packed with baby supplies and ice chests full of sodas and beer.

"Um, no?" Brian meets Justin in back of the car to help unload it, Daphne fussing with Missy's hair and clothes before lifting her out.

"See, that's how it should be," Justin says. "I can understand needing a little time to get used to the idea. But, Jesus! It's not like I told them I'm an ax murderer or anything. How old were you when you told your parents?" Opening the collapsible stroller, he sets it down on the sidewalk near Daphne before he and Brian each heft an ice chest to lug around to the back of the house. A Pyrex casserole dish of freshly baked lasagna precariously tops Brian's armful.

Good old Jack and Joan Kinney. Brian thinks of the two people who very rarely enter his mind anymore. The irreparable sot and the martyred saint. What good did her ridiculous dogma ever do for her? The tempest that would have surely resulted from any disclosure he would have happened to have made to them about scouting out dick was something he'd successfully steered clear of, biding his time until he'd been old enough to get the hell out. And after that? The 'steering clear of' strategy is one he has no intention of fucking with. Ever. "Well, about that," he explains to Justin. "It's not any of their business where I stick my cock. I mean, where I used to stick my cock before I started sticking it only in you."

Daphne giggling aloud, Justin automatically looks down at his baby daughter. Blissfully ignorant of such graphic images, she babbles away in her stroller. The protective parent in him wants to keep it that way until she's forty. "You mean your parents don't even know you're gay?" he asks, the words hardly computing in his brain.

"Justin, I didn't grow up like you did. You were privileged, with two doting parents, living the country club life and attending the very best private schools. Your dad may be an intolerant asshole now, but during your formative years, you had every advantage and the love and support of a good family. It was only natural for you to confide in them and expect to be accepted for who you are." Brian pauses, he and Justin doing the silent conversation thing with their eyes, connecting a bit more over the hardships of one and the bitter disappointment of the other as they'd navigated through their fathers' homophobia. He quickly kisses Justin's forehead as they tromp through the yard, hoping to soften the final blow before he lets it loose. "For me, it was pretty much survival from one day to the next in an abusive environment. I did what I had to do to get by."

"God, Brian," Daphne weighs in. "I guess Justin and I don't realize how good we had it growing up out here in our sheltered little suburbia. Our problems seem miniscule compared to what you were dealing with."

Justin laughs quietly. "Remember that month in eighth grade when we both liked the same guy?" he asks Daphne. "We thought that was the end of the world."

"Billy Hauser? We were hoping he was bi so we could both have him!" She laughs along with him at their youthful antics.

"Justin! Daphne!" An excited Molly Taylor runs to open the back gate for her brother and his entourage. "Mom!" she squeals at the top of her lungs. "They're here! They're here!" Flinging herself at Daphne, she hugs her around the waist so tightly it knocks them both off balance for a minute. "I miss you so much, Daph. How come you never come over to play with me anymore? Can I push the baby? Please? I'll be careful!"

"Molly, slow down," Justin warns. "You can push the baby, but you have to watch where you're going. And stay away from the pool. On second thought . . ."

"It's okay," Daphne tells him, remembering the days when they'd ditched Molly at every available opportunity. "I'll stay with her."

"Hey, Mollusk, where's my hug?" Justin asks his little sister, setting his ice chest down against the side of the house and nodding for Brian to do the same with the one he's carrying. He sees that she's suddenly much too cool to be caught hugging a member of her own family when he stands up to face her with open arms. Hands falling back to his sides in mock disappointment, he wastes no time with the introductions. "I have someone I want you to meet. Molly, this is Brian. Brian, this is my sister, Molly."

"I know, I know. He's your new boyfriend," the precocious soon-to-be fifth-grader blurts out. "Mom told me all about it. You met him just before Missy was born." Taking over the stroller, she guides it toward the patio, tilting her head way, way upward to see Brian's face. "You're tall."

"Thank you," Brian replies without missing a beat. "Yes. Yes, I'm tall, but that in no way detracts from my marvelous personality."

Molly shakes her head with the inherent wisdom every ten-year-old possesses. "You can't be that marvelous if you like my brother. Do you know that Justin used to pick his nose when he thought no one was watching? And that he got suspended from school one time for flipping his teacher the bird? And that -"

"Why don't you push the baby over to Mom and Mrs. Chanders?" Justin cuts her off. "I'm sure they can't wait to get their hands on her. I think you've done enough fucking damage to me for one day. Shit!"

"And that our mom is always mad at him for cussing in front of me?"

"What do you think she'll do to me when I lock you in the attic and don't tell anyone where you are?" Justin gives his pesky sister the evil eye before breaking into a wide, big-brotherly grin.

Molly doesn't want to chance it. "Mom?!" she yells over to the patio table, where her mother and Daphne's parents are sitting. "Justin's being mean to me again!"

"I'd say that went well," Brian observes as they approach the table. "Do you think she likes me?"

"Oh, here comes our precious little angel! Let me see her," Dorothy Chanders gushes all over herself. "Are they letting you babysit, Molly? You're such a good aunt." She lifts Missy out of the stroller when the baby chooses that moment to start wailing for no apparent reason other than to let herself be heard. "What's all this noise about?" she asks the infant. "Let Grandma hold you."

"Hey, you made it," Jennifer says. "Here, sit down."

"We will," Justin tells her. "Do you guys remember Brian?"

"Sure." Dorothy looks up from her quickly calming granddaughter. "We met at the hospital."

"How are you?" Brian asks.

"I'm so glad Justin wanted you to join us, Brian." Jennifer smiles at him, welcoming him into the fold. "This looks delicious," she says, checking out the lasagna when he hands it to her.

"I don't know if everyone's big on Italian food, but I asked my mom to make this for you. You can freeze it for later if you want to."

"We love baked lasagna," Jennifer and Dorothy say in unison.

"You can come over any time," Jennifer adds. "In fact, when can you move in? Do you think your mom would cook for us?"

"Hi, Mr. Chanders," Justin addresses Daphne's dad. "I want you to meet Brian Kinney. Brian, this is Roy Chanders, Daphne's father."

"It's nice to meet you, sir." Brian shakes hands with Mr. Chanders, sitting in the chair beside him.

"Call me Roy. No need for all this formality," the portly man suggests. "And Justin, you practically grew up in our house. I keep telling you I feel too old when you call me Mr. Chanders!"

"Oh, Daddy, you're not old," Daphne laughs, giving her father a hug and a kiss. "Jen, can I put her bottles in the fridge?"

"Go right ahead. I hope you can find room in there." Jennifer pries Molly away from Missy, telling her to go with Daphne to make room on the top shelf of the refrigerator for the baby's bottles. She brings the casserole dish in to the freezer behind them.

"You don't want beer, Dorothy, right?" Justin calls over his shoulder, walking back to the ice chests. "Can I bring you a Pepsi?"

"That sounds good," Daphne's mom says, Missy stretching in her lap. "How long has she been on formula?" she asks when he returns to the table. "Daphne didn't want to keep breast-feeding her?"

Handing a beer to Roy and Brian and keeping one for himself, Justin slides into the empty chair next to his boyfriend. "She still does at night," he explains to Dorothy, "but the pediatrician said it was okay to supplement with formula if we wanted to. Daphne said she wanted me to be able to feed Missy, too."

Cuddling the baby close to herself, Dorothy receives satisfied goo's and gaa's in return. "She certainly likes to be held, doesn't she? I'm going to talk to Daphne about getting a breast pump. Then you can give her a bottle, but it can still be breast milk."

Brian takes a long drink of his beer, pondering how bad it would be if he took out his cigarettes and lit one. Roy Chanders also feels slightly uncomfortable with the conversation his wife is having with Justin.

"But you know what?" Justin asks, perfectly content to discuss Daphne and her breasts with her mom. "We saw one when we were buying all the baby stuff, and she said there's no way she ever wants to do that."

"So . . . Brian, what line of work are you in?" Roy spies Brian's cigarettes through his shirt pocket, wishing right about then that he wasn't trying to quit. "I'm in sporting goods."

Setting his beer down, Brian's grateful for the diversion. "I'm an adman," he says. "I'm an account executive at Ryder Advertising, downtown on Third Street.

"Seriously?" Roy perks up at the information. "I'm the general manager of The Sports Authority here in Southern Hills and at the other location in central Pittsburgh, too. We just picked up a new line of clothing and a new running shoe that need some kind of promotion other than our routine ads. I've heard Ryder's the best. I should persuade the big brass to take the plunge and go with your agency."

Brian's thrilled with the prospect of bringing in The Sports Authority, thinking of how Marty Ryder's been hinting around for six months about promoting him to partner. He knows a major account like this one just might cinch the deal. "I think you'd be very pleased with Ryder Advertising, Roy," he says. "We don't rest until our clients are completely happy with our campaigns, and we employ the brightest creative minds in the field."

"Well, you guys should come up with a way to market the Mother's Helper Breast Pump," Justin grins craftily at Brian, "because it totally turned Daphne off the minute she laid eyes on it."

Dorothy bursts into rousing laughter just as Jen, Daphne, and Molly come back out to the patio.

"What turned me off?" Daphne wants to know.

"Hey, Brian, why don't we go start that barbecue?" Roy pushes his chair away from the table to make a quick escape.

Sizing up the situation with a quick peek into Justin's eyes, Brian decides it's alright to follow suit. He kisses the side of his face before trailing Roy.

"I did that on purpose," Justin whispers to Dorothy. "It's so great that they have something in common."

"I know you did," she giggles.

Roy tosses his beer bottle into the garbage can at the end of the patio. "It's not too soon to light the barbecue, is it, Jen? We can get it going and let it get nice and hot before we throw the burgers on."

"It's a gas barbecue, Roy. You know that." Jennifer doesn't quite get his lapse of memory since the last time they'd gotten together at her house. Her barbecue is just like the one Roy and Dorothy have, and he cooks on it every time they come over. "All you have to do is turn the burners on, and it's ready in two minutes."

"Right," Roy nods, he and Brian beating a hasty retreat from the breast pump conversation. They reach into the ice chest for another beer on their way to the built-in unit out near the pool area.

Justin fills Jennifer in on the reason for their rapid getaway, Daphne confirms her aversion to such a torturous device, and Molly pays rapt attention. They've always been an open family.

"I think we're far enough away from the baby out here to have a cigarette," Roy tells Brian, eyeing his smokes again. "You wouldn't happen to have an extra one of those, would you?"

Removing the pack from his pocket, Brian feels around for his lighter. "I was prepared to go the whole afternoon without smoking," he brags. "I'm not gonna get us in trouble, am I?"

"I've really cut down in the last few months. They know I can't resist once in awhile," Roy chuckles, taking one when Brian holds them out toward him. "Thanks. You're going to join me, aren't you?"

"I guess so. Just trying to make a good impression on everyone, you know?" Brian lights up, then hands his lighter to Roy. "I didn't think Justin smoked around his mom."

"Justin? He and Daphne have been smoking since they were sophomores at St. James," Roy laughs, slowly exhaling a most satisfying lungful of tar and nicotine. "At first, they used to sneak up in Daphne's tree house. Molly caught them one day and tattled to Jennifer, but we didn't go off on them. They've always been good kids. Got straight A's all four years at that parochial school . . . both of them. Never gave us any trouble. We figured if they only had that one vice in their otherwise squeaky-clean lives, we'd let them have their independence. They were relieved, actually, to have been found out. They didn't want to have to climb up that damn tree anymore! They just went outside to smoke after that - very adult-like."

Brian considers Justin's and Daphne's indulgent parents, flashing back on all the times Debbie had caught him raiding her liquor cabinet or smoking a joint with Michael. Talk about flying off the handle! She'd always threatened them within an inch of their lives, and then she'd turned on her heels and gone downstairs to make them something to eat. It'd gotten to the point where they'd pulled some outrageous prank half the time just because they'd been hungry. But, fuck! Could she yell! "And I noticed Jennifer didn't bat an eyelash when Justin popped open a beer," he says to Roy. "She just knows he's responsible and doesn't give him any flack?"

"Pretty much. He's had a fake ID since the middle of last year. He told her he was going to buy it. She trusted him to use good judgement, and he's never given her a reason to think he hasn't. What high school senior doesn't drink beer?"

"Exactly." Brian thinks Jennifer and Debbie would become fast friends if given half a chance. Liberal minded, accepting, single woman meets quintessential fag hag: a match made in heaven! "About the good judgement," he segues seamlessly. "How tough was it to acclimate yourselves to their lack of it when Daphne turned up pregnant? If you don't mind me asking."

Roy contemplates his reply, not wanting to sound politically incorrect. "I won't lie," he sighs. "At first, we were all in shock when they told us. I mean, Justin was the last person we ever would have thought of as the father . . . because . . . um, well, he'd been out for so long. But evidently, it was all Daphne's idea. She cajoled him into it. It was difficult to blame him." Catching a glimpse of Justin and Daphne over on the patio, Roy smiles as he continues. "And he's taken full responsibility for his actions. He's stepped up financially and every other way imaginable. They're young, but they're both smart. I think they'll be able to handle the challenges of raising a child, and they're committed to doing it together. You know, Dorothy and I have had our share of challenges along the way with our interracial marriage. You just get through them because you have to," he claims, finally ceasing with the reflective commentary.

"I'd say they're two very special people," Brian concurs, sensing that Daphne's dad doesn't get many opportunities to verbalize his thoughts.

"Especially Justin." Roy stubs out his cigarette, switching on the barbecue's five burners.

"Especially Justin."

Turning back to face Brian and his killer smile, Roy's educated guess - after spending half an hour with the man - is that he's fairly special, too. When Justin joins them, he's glad that his own presence neither deters him from affectionately wrapping his arm around Brian's waist nor Brian from reciprocating. He thinks briefly of what a fool Craig Taylor ultimately proved to be, missing out on so many milestones in his son's life and the existence of his first grandchild.

"So . . . this is the smoking section?" Justin jokes, pulling his cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans. "What are you guys yakking about?"

"Roy was just updating me on that new running shoe." Brian gives Justin a quick kiss. "I think I've got some great ideas percolating already!" he laughs, the three of them getting on famously while the hamburgers and hot dogs sear over the gas flame.

Daphne takes back over the care and feeding of her daughter so her mom can help Jennifer bring side dishes from the kitchen to the outdoor table. She grins at Molly, who flits back and forth between the women and the men and tries to garner Brian's attention with cartwheels and cheerleading jumps in the yard.

. . .

"Eat up, everyone. We've got plenty of food here," Jennifer points out when her guests are finishing up their first helpings. "You're so good with the baby, Brian," she remarks in the next breath, noting that he's every bit as adept at keeping her pacified as her parents are when he and Justin take turns holding and talking to Missy after her catnap in the stroller. "Do you have younger siblings?"

"My sister's three years older than I am," Brian replies, reaching into Missy's bag for a cloth diaper. He shifts her up onto his shoulder after making a barrier between the fabric of his shirt and her delicate skin. "Missy's the only baby I've ever been around, but as you can see, she kind of likes me."

"Bah gah," Missy gurgles against his collar bone, provoking peals of laughter from around the table.

"I wanna hold her now! Can I? Can I?" Molly skips over to her brother, pleading her case impatiently. "Justin, please?"

"I guess you can. But sit back down, and Brian will put her in your lap. You can't be so fidgety." Justin makes it somewhat easier for her to contain the squirming bundle by draping a thin receiving blanket over the baby before Brian places her into Molly's arms. "Finish eating," he tells Daph when she sets her iced tea down, ready to oversee Molly and Missy. "I'll stand by them." Brother and sister making their peace for the afternoon, he gives her pointers on holding his daughter.

Jennifer and Dorothy start clearing away the food to discourage the flies from landing while Daphne and Roy discuss her acceptance into the University of Pittsburgh. When Brian excuses himself from the table, he wanders through the kitchen to look for the restroom, Jennifer directing him up the stairs and to the left.

"Well, I guess her two grandmothers can fight over whose turn it is to have her when you guys start college, huh?" Roy laughs, Justin and Daphne sighing in appreciation of their good fortune in that department. "Are you still on track for art school, Justin?"

"Yeah, I am. They liked my work enough to let me in!"

"PIFA's an expensive place."

"It is," Justin agrees. "I've earned a partial scholarship, though, and I'm going to finance the remainder with my inheritance. It shouldn't be a problem," he adds before broaching another subject with Roy. "I've been meaning to talk to you about Daph's tuition at Pitt. I'd like you to let me pay that, too. My grandmother left me an enormous sum. Our educations - and Missy's, when the time comes - are covered, along with anything else the three of us will ever need."

"Justin, a premed undergraduate degree and med school after that is no cheap endeavor. I don't think you know what you're offering."

"Daphne wants to be a doctor. I want to be an artist. I'm just hoping to make it possible for us to reach our goals."

Roy's always wondered how he's going to swing Daphne's medical degree. "Let's take it one semester at a time," he finally concedes. "Maybe we can split it. And thank you."

. . .

Once up the opulent spiral staircase, Brian finds the restroom and then creeps noiselessly into Justin's old bedroom. Unoccupied for several weeks, it's still home to the drawings affixed to the walls and a plethora of sketchpads scattered around on the desk and dresser. He walks over to the nightstand when he zeroes in on a particularly interesting self-portrait just begging to be examined more closely, reverently picking up the image and lauding Justin's talent to himself.

Picturing his boyfriend standing beside him in the flesh, Brian marvels at the uncannily accurate attention to detail he finds in the portrait: Justin's golden hair, highlighted with streaks that look as if they've been painted on with a brush dipped in white; his matching gold eyebrows, arching over smallish, almond shaped eyes the color of a Dresden porcelain mark; and his high cheekbones, the cornerstone of perfect bone structure. Justin had made it through puberty with the same baby's-bottom smooth complexion he'd been born with, never having had as much as a half of a pimple, yet Brian likes the way the smattering of chicken pox scars that are etched into his face only enhance the character of it.

The light hue and fine texture of Justin's beard make it all but impossible to detect . . . unless, of course, you're Brian. When he thinks of the slight sandpapery feel to Justin's jawline that rubs against him when they kiss, something reawakens in his marrow every single reason that he's gay.

He's still studying the self-portrait in depth with his back to the door when the sound of it clicking shut and locking incites a riot deep down in Brian's heart. Slowly raising his head, he feels Justin walking toward him.

"What are you doing in here?" a silky voice reaches his ears. It could have asked the same question from the other side of the room with the door open.

"Waiting for you," he answers, pure and simple honesty encased in a hushed, velvety tone. Pulse racing, Brian turns around, Justin rising up on tiptoe to kiss him. He's reminded of their first night together when he'd played the role of sexual guru to an innocent kid, sensing the awakening of a dynamic mass of hormones when their lips had met for the very first time. That sexual being he's created, the one he'd expected to fuck and discard the next day, never bothering to get to know, gazes into his eyes and unzips his his fly.

Justin cups Brian's balls in the palm of his hand, the bold overture signaling his willingness to christen his old room with a quick dalliance. Admiring his sense of adventure, Brian complies by opening his jeans in return and bending to envelop Justin's rapidly hardening cock in his mouth.

Muffled cries soon accompany Justin's explosion when Brian sucks him off, his long strings of come squirting down his throat. Envisioning the thirty ways he's going to fuck his boy as soon as they get somewhere else, Brian finds himself flat on his back on the bed, Justin having given him a gentle backward push.

Sticking his hand into Brian's pocket, Justin pulls it out with a condom clutched between his fingers. He rolls it down Brian's shaft in record time and lowers his ass onto it with no preparation at all. Craving the stretch and burn, he can't wait to fuck himself on Brian's cock.

Brian lets him set the pace in fear of hurting him, yet he responds with enthusiastic bombarding into his prostate when Justin's low whispers of "Fuck me, Brian" fill his ears. He comes with a jolt of electric energy as Justin rides him with unruly passion, his orgasm initiating another one for his lusty boyfriend.

Gasping quietly, they cling together and kiss and laugh, Brian sitting up and crushing Justin against his chest. Gradually growing still, a long convergent stare into each other's eyes takes over.

"Brian?"

"Yeah?" The anticipation in his voice belies the staid demeanor he's going for.

"I, um, I . . ."

Brian's heart palpitates in his chest. He guesses he does deserve to be loved.

"I got come all over your shirt. Now you've smished it all over mine, too. We can't go back downstairs like this."

"Kinky."

"Here," Justin says, carefully dismantling himself from Brian's dick. He leans over the side of the bed, Brian holding the condom in place to reduce spillage. "I think my old come towel is still . . . Yep . . . Here it is. Right where I left it." Pulling a small square of terry cloth out from under the bed, he wipes at their stained shirts.

"Jesus," Brian winces. "How long has this thing been under there?"

"Since I was twelve. But I think my mom kept washing it and putting it back because every Saturday it smelled like fabric softener."

"This is one fucked up family you've got here," Brian wisecracks, removing the condom and tying it off. "In a positive, life affirming way!"

Walking into the room's adjoining bathroom together, Brian drops the condom into the trash, neither of them able to keep from grinning like a couple of kids as they stuff themselves back into their underwear and jeans.

"You go downstairs first," Justin says, combing his hair. "I'll be there in a minute. I want to get some of my old sketchbooks to bring home with me."

"Right. We don't want anybody thinking we were up here fucking or anything." Kissing Justin one last time, Brian lets himself out into the hall. He's almost to the staircase when he hears his reply.

"They already think that."


	5. Chapter 5

VICE VERSA - CHAPTER FIVE

"So, Daph, should we call it a day? It's getting kind of late." Justin finds her walking two steps behind Molly, who's pushing Missy around the backyard in her stroller. "Sorry," he nods at his sister. "Is she being a major pain in the ass?"

"She's great. We're giving Missy swimming lessons as soon as she's walking . . . just so you know."

Justin glances over at the pool. "I'm thinking of teaching her myself."

"As long as she learns. I am getting sorta tired. Can you walk with them while I pack up?" Daphne suddenly looks and sounds much older than eighteen to Justin as he chases a fleeting thought through his head that has something to do with wondering if he's chosen a life for them she might not have necessarily chosen.

"That's it for today, Molly," he snaps. "Push her back up to the table."

"Why?" Molly protests. "I wanna push her some more. Missy likes it. I don't wanna stop yet." She's just about to turn away from the patio for another lap around the yard when her brother takes over.

"I told you. That's enough." Covering her hands with his, Justin steers the stroller where he wants it to go. "You can help me by rounding up her toys you've scattered all over the place. Daphne's gonna sit down while I get everything ready to take home."

Molly pouts, left with no choice but to follow.

"Sit and talk to your mom," he tells Daph as they near the table. "I'll get Missy's things together."

"Thanks, Justin." Daphne rewards her best friend with a peck on his cheek, feeling as if he's just given her the only gift she's ever wanted on Christmas morning.

"Molly, I'm gonna park Missy next to Daphne, and I don't want you to move her. Got it?" He knows his sister's wheedling skills are top-notch. He doesn't want Daph to have to deal with it right then. "Molly?"

"O . . . kay."

. . .

"It's a beautiful home," Brian tells Jennifer. "How long have you lived here?"

"About twenty years, I think. We bought it before Justin was born. We just loved the neighborhood. Where do you live, Brian?"

Quietly collecting the baby's bottles in the kitchen, Justin listens from the center island to the conversation taking place in the dining room.

"I've got a loft down on Tremont. Been there about five years now. You're welcome to stop by anytime," he adds. "I think you'd like the decor. Judging from your house, it looks like we have similar taste."

"I'd love to." Jennifer smiles kindly. "You and Justin seem so right for each other - I just have to say." She knows she's completely changing the subject, but something compels her to do it. Thinking back to all the types of boys she'd pictured her son with when he'd come out, she realizes that not one of them is even remotely close to the man standing in front of her. Yet, now that he's arrived, she can't imagine him with anyone else. "You both seem so . . . so . . . at home with each other."

"I care about him." Brian stands a little taller, holding his head up high. He didn't see that one coming, but now that it's out, he doesn't mind. In fact, he's rather proud of letting Justin's mother in on it.

"I can see that. Everyone can. I think it's wonderful."

Giving Jennifer an appreciative nod, the corners of Brian's mouth turn upward. "Thanks for inviting me today," he says, running a hand through his hair. "It's nice to get to know Justin's family, and Daphne's, too."

"All right, you guys." Justin walks into the dining room, breaking up the schmooze fest. "If it gets any more sugary in here, all our teeth are gonna rot out." Stopping beside Brian with the diaper bag slung over his shoulder, he bumps him with his hip. "Are you ready to go, or do you wanna stand here and trade decorator tips with my mom all day?"

"I think we can save that for next time," Brian laughs. Wanting to kiss him, he thinks twice with Jennifer right there. It strikes him again how the family has no secrets when Justin rises on tiptoe and plants his lips on the side of his face.

"Thanks, Mom. The food was great. Daphne's getting tired, so we're gonna go." Hugging her tightly, Justin has a kiss for her, too.

Back outside on the lawn, Brian laughs when Molly worms her way onto his arm, swinging her in circles so fast she's dizzy when he sets her down. Jennifer and Daphne's parents watch he and his boyfriend spring into action like a well oiled machine when Missy starts to cry in the middle of the good-byes, Brian lifting the baby onto his shoulder while Justin swiftly stuffs her blankets and toys in her bag.

"Ready?" Justin asks Daph, who pushes the empty stroller as they make their way out of the gate.

"I knew you'd quiet down when we got you out of that thing," Brian tells Missy.

Drooling away on his shoulder, she couldn't agree more. "Gaa."

. . .

THREE MONTHS LATER

"Thanks again, Dorothy, for staying with her. I hope she wasn't in one of her fussy moods." Justin holds the car door open for Daphne's mom as she prepares to leave their apartment complex.

"Oh, she definitely knew you two were gone, but we managed. I think it's so cute how she wanted to go to Brian the minute you guys got home."

Daphne rolls her eyes at the mention of it. "She's got him wrapped around her little finger, that's for sure! She knows already that he indulges her every whim. Justin and I are trying to unspoil her, but he's not making it any easier." She and her mom kiss good-bye, Justin giving Dorothy a hug before she drives away.

"What a night!" he exclaims, taking Daph's hand as they walk back to their apartment. "I still can't believe Brian won! And you," he starts, a gleam in his eye and a wide grin on his face. "I don't even have to ask if you had a good time at the banquet. Mike . . . Mark . . . what's his name? He was all over you. I hope you gave him your number!"

"It's Matt," Daphne sighs. "And, yeah, I had enough presence of mind not to repeat your mistake. Do you think he's gonna call me?"

"He's an idiot if he doesn't." Justin kisses the back of her hand, happy that she's met someone. "Now aren't you glad we forced you to come with us?"

"Thanks for not taking no for an answer. I just thought you and Brian would like a night to yourselves."

"We have lots of nights to ourselves. He really wanted you to come. Christ! He would have taken your dad with us if he hadn't been out of town on business!"

Daphne's arm winds around Justin's waist, squeezing tightly. "Are we just gonna pretend Brian didn't pull you up there when he was making his acceptance speech, kissing the hell out of you and declaring his love in front of the whole banquet hall? That was the most romantic thing I've ever seen," she giggles. "I thought Debbie was gonna bust a gut. She had a tear in her eye when I glanced over at her. Even Michael was thrilled for you guys. He was clapping and cheering louder than anyone."

Justin's still in shock. "I couldn't believe it! In front of everybody like that! We've always telegraphed that stuff to each other with our eyes. But now . . . Jesus! I could feel myself blushing up there. Did I look like a goddamned fairy?"

"You looked like a man in love," she laughs, stopping so abruptly when she opens their door that Justin nearly runs into her from behind. "Oh, my God! Check this out!" she whispers.

"Shh, don't wake them up," he whispers back, peeking over Daphne's shoulder. "I gotta get a picture." Taking his phone from his pocket, he snaps a few shots of Brian sound asleep on their sofa, his suit jacket and tie thrown over the back, one leg dangling down to the floor. Their four-month-old daughter sleeps peacefully on his chest, his open palm securely on her back.

Justin knows what he's going to sketch for his next assignment at PIFA. Quietly entering, he and Daphne grab a beer from the fridge and kick back at the kitchen table, promptly falling into their habit of obsessing over the latest cute guy to hit their radar. They see Brian start to stir before long.

Shifting his face toward them, he's careful not to disturb the sleeping princess. "Crushing on the smoking hot bartender, Daph? Martin, was it?" Brian wonders in the middle of a gaping yawn. "I hope you gave him your number."

"It was Matt, you sleepyhead," she laughs, scooping Missy off of him. "I'll just put her in the crib."

Brian creeps up in back of Justin's chair and leans over his shoulder, sucking on the side of his neck. "Hey," he says softly, his hands inching down the front of his body.

"Mmmm." Justin's head rolls backward when Brian's fingers reach his lap. "Don't make me hard out here." Angling an arm behind himself, he pulls him lower. "Wanna sleep here tonight? We could go to bed right now."

"Um, I was thinking we could do Babylon for awhile. Maybe celebrate or something, you know? I just happen to be Pittsburgh's Ad Person of the Year," he brags.

"Or that." Justin stands, taking him into a loving embrace. "Can you believe you won? The whole night was surreal!" His tongue takes a detour into Brian's mouth before he continues. "I guess that's what happens to admen who don't have bad ideas. They win Ad Person of the Year awards! Have I told you how beautiful you look in this Gucci suit?"

"Thanks to Roy," Brian grins, walking back over to the sofa and slipping into his shoes. "It was all because of The Sports Authority campaign - Ryder making me partner . . . moving into the corner office . . . winning the award - I seem to be having a very good year."

Daphne comes back to finish her beer. "Brian, Missy's out cold. How did you get her to sleep so fast? My mom said she was kind of restless while we were gone."

Arms lifting nonchalantly from his sides, he shrugs and folds his lips together. "What can I say? She adores me. Do you think you and Missy will be okay if I take Justin to Babylon?" He throws his jacket and tie over his arm. "Just for a couple of hours. Then we'll come back and sleep here. You won't be alone too long."

"Geez, Brian! You're as protective as Justin is. You two go. Celebrate your big night. We'll will be just fine."

"Are you kidding?" Justin struts out of his room after swapping his dress slacks and sport coat for ass-hugging Levi's and a flimsy sleeveless black shirt. "She wants us out of here so she can talk to Matt in private when he calls, don't you, Daph?"

"Ooohh, Matt!" Brian squeaks playfully. "What a dreamboat!"

"Asshole," Daphne shoots back. "Take your boyfriend dancing already. And whatever else it is that goes on at that club. Do you guys really think he's gonna call me?"

"He'll call," Brian and Justin singsong together just before they land kisses on either side of her face.

"Freaks."

. . .

Brian kisses strands of yellow hair repeatedly on the walk to the parking area. "You drive," he says when they reach his Jeep, lobbing the keys to Justin.

"Tired after all that excitement at the banquet? Posing for all those publicity shots must have been exhausting." Looking over his shoulder, Justin backs out of the parking space. "Aahh, Brian, what are you . . .? Ooohh!"

Brian's into his jeans before he's out of the driveway, groping for his balls and cock. "What? You're the only one who can sit over here and blow the driver of this thing? No underwear. I knew it. Your dick makes me cuckoo."

Justin comes in Brian's mouth on the way to Babylon. Twice.

. . .

"Here he is! The man of the hour!" Ted tips his beer bottle in salute when Brian and Justin fight their way up to Babylon's crowded bar. "Way to go, Bri."

"He hates it when people call him Bri," Justin tells Ted, raising his voice a few notches to be heard over the commotion in the busy club.

"Oh, Justin! That black see-through shirt looks fabulous against your fair skin!" Emmett squeals, clapping his hands in delight. "Aren't you glad I held it back for you?"

"Yeah, I love it, Em. Thanks. And all the little clothes for Missy, too. It's great to have a personal shopper."

Emmett drapes his arms affectedly around Justin's shoulders, kissing his well dressed friend on the lips.

It takes Brian about three seconds to remove them - just as affectedly. "Yeah, thanks, Emmett." He lifts one eyebrow. "Now I only have to pay two bodyguards to keep the vipers off of him." Hooking his forearm around Justin's chest, he reels his boy backward into himself, his dick teased covertly when Justin sticks his round ass cheeks out and presses on it with a steady rhythm.

"Congratulations again, Brian," Emmett laughs, sipping his girly pink cosmo.

"Two shots of Beam and a Mich Lite chaser?" Michael asks Brian. "Let me get your first round. Did you know that my best friend here is Pittsburgh's Ad Person of the Year?" he asks the guy to his left, whom none of them know. "What are you drinking, Justin?"

"Hmm . . . I'll have a shot of J.B. What the hell!" Turning around inside Brian's arms, Justin pulls his face down. "How often does my boyfriend publicly proclaim his love for me?" Locking lips for an inordinate length of time, they block out the racket surrounding them, retreating to their private place.

"Uh, I'm guessing never?" Ted ventures after awhile.

"So, Emmett, how about that filet mignon?" Michael picks up the slack. "What a classy awards dinner, huh?" He orders the alcohol from the bartender and finishes his beer before Brian and Justin come up for air. When they do, it's obvious to their friends they're somewhere else entirely.

"Thanks, Mikey." Brian reaches blindly for the bar, clearly under Justin's spell. After tossing back their shots, he follows him out onto the dance floor with both hands on his shoulders from behind.

"We need boyfriends," Ted, Emmett, and Michael mutter to each other, watching the Brian and Justin show.

"It's the last thing on his mind right now," Michael replies when Ted tells him he's drinking Brian's beer. "Didn't you see that look in his eyes? They won't be back up here to the bar anytime soon."

"We really need boyfriends," Ted and Emmett whine.

. . .

"Justin," Brian sighs, clinging to him in the middle of Babylon's gyrating masses. He often stands about six inches away from him with his drink in his hand, watching him dance; and sometimes they sway together, his hands resting on his hips while Justin's clasp together around his neck. But other times, as right then, he simply presses his willowy thigh between Justin's legs, pushing forward on the small of his back with a wide open hand until their bodies become one.

With his sleeves rolled up and the top four buttons of his dress shirt undone, Brian uses his thigh on Justin's cock, leaving his boyfriend breathless. "What'd you think of my speech?" he whispers in his ear, the wet spot from Justin's leaking dick soaking through to his suit pants.

"Brian," Justin whispers back, embedding his throbbing erection deeper into his femur because he just can't stop himself. Their escalating heartbeats pound against each other in their crushed-together chests, matching the pulsating thump that blares from Babylon's loudspeakers. "You announced it to everyone you work with and everyone we know, not to mention hundreds of people we don't even know, too." Imperceptibly humping Brian's leg, his balls tighten up.

"I was hoping it would make you happy."

The first spurt of come creams Justin's crotch.

Brian holds him during his orgasm, nothing existing but their stopped moment in time. "I'll take that as an affirmative," he murmurs when he feels Justin's heart rate slowing down.

Justin looks up with glazed over eyes, wound around him so tightly he never wants to let go. He breaks into a shy smile when Brian gazes longingly in the direction of the back room and leads him there by the hand. Finding them a spot along the wall, he pushes Brian's shirt from his shoulders, but before he can turn around, Brian unzips his jeans and falls to his knees to lap up the come still drenching his cock and balls.

The sight of Brian Kinney on his knees in front of his boyfriend is one that more than a few of their horny neighbors can't tear their eyes from. Mesmerized, they watch Justin's fingers thread through Brian's hair and hear him moan softly as his dick springs to glorious life once more.

"They can't wait for me to fuck you," Brian says when he stands back up, onto the fact that they've become the back room's main event. "Would you rather get out of here?"

Justin unzips Brian's Gucci suit pants with the ruined knees, grasping inside for his dick. "I can't wait for you to fuck me. Give 'em their money's worth." He strokes Brian's cock up and down and kisses his lips.

"Aah, fuck, that's hot! Shit! Suck me off! and I'm gonna come!" reach their ears from various points around them, Brian's cock doubling in size under Justin's magic touch.

Turning his boy around, his groin aches in a way that only Justin's sweet asshole can cure. He plucks a small foil packet from the pocket of his loosely hanging pants and deftly starts to work, one hand rolling the condom down his hard shaft while the other one smears lube from the packet across Justin's pink little hole.

A few guys shoot their loads when Brian's middle finger plunges slowly inside of him and disappears between his perfectly formed ass cheeks, Justin rocking back and forth and begging for more. "Ready?" Brian whispers into the side of his neck, bending forward to lick and suck on it.

"Fuck me, Brian. Come on," Justin pleads, his hole stretching and burning as he takes Brian's cock all the way in. He gasps when it bumps his prostate gland.

"I'm gonna fuck you like this all night. Jesus! You're so tight!" Brian can't stop himself from gushing out the words, reaching around for Justin's dick as it juts straight up.

"Fuck him! Fuck him!" their onlookers shout, some of them coming all over their partners or themselves.

"Justin, I'm . . . you're . . . aahh!" Soon slumping onto his back, Brian pours long strings of come into the condom, but he doesn't stop pumping - neither his cock nor his hand. It's happened before: fucking straight through his orgasm, never losing his hard-on, acutely focused on Justin and making him come. With every last guy in the back room finished and waiting for him, Brian jerks him harder and faster, fucking him with a still-stiff cock. "Come for me," he whispers in his ear. He smiles when Justin's fist latches onto his own, his boyfriend crying out when he rams his cock into his spasming hole one last time, tugging on his dick as it empties into his hand.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Justin yells, doubling over with his second orgasm in fifteen minutes - the one in his jeans on the dance floor a quiet, beautiful thing in contrast to the public display of need and fulfillment he's just shown. "I can't believe you can fuck me like this," he whispers, a touch of self-consciousness in his voice. Raising his arm, he pulls Brian's upper body further down onto himself.

"Like this?" Brian's stature sinks down over Justin's shoulder, molding itself onto him. "I love you," he utters softly, coming into the condom again.

The applause from their admirers starts out faint, building into a thunderous roar. Tuning out the world once again, all that exists is their private one.

. . .

"Having fun?" Michael asks facetiously when his slightly disheveled and flushed friends make their way back up to the bar, glued together in their euphoria. "How come we heard what sounded like a standing ovation coming from the back room a few minutes ago?"

"I think we're gonna head out," Brian says, ordering two bottles of water to slake their parched throats. "Daphne and Missy are alone."

Noting that it's one in the morning, Michael remembers the days when he and Brian would close the place down. "Kind of early, isn't it?"

"I guess we've done enough dancing and fucking in here for one night," Brian grins, his eyes alive with emotion for his boy. "Haven't we, Justin?"

Justin lays his head on Brian's chest, laughing quietly. Leaning on each other with laced arms and hearts, their future's never looked so bright.

. . .

"I think I'm clairvoyant or something. It plays like scenes from a movie, you know?" Justin slouches sideways in the passenger side of the Jeep, facing Brian on the way home.

"What are you seeing in that pretty little head of yours?"

"I don't know . . . I guess . . . down the road . . . how our wildly successful lives might turn out. Have you ever thought about it?"

"Yeah, I have." Brian's right hand finds Justin's, their fingers interlocking with natural ease. "I think about it all the time. But you go first."

"Your career," Justin starts. "You're at the top of your game right now, winning the award tonight. I can see you opening your own advertising firm, crushing the competition here at home and even going international. It'll make you a wealthy man. That'll enable you to buy Babylon and turn it into the most lucrative dance club this city's ever seen, complete with a live DJ and a secluded VIP room that caters to the discerning gentleman. You could make complimentary bottles of high grade lube and condoms available to everyone who's lucky enough to get in. What do you think?"

"A high-class Babylon," Brian nods, eyes wide open. "And its wealthy owner. I like it!" he laughs. "What about you? Did you see yourself pass through that crystal ball of yours?"

"Me? Yeah. I trudge my way through the next four years at PIFA and then make a living with my painting. These first few of weeks of school have been eye-opening. The possibilities are endless.

"And Daphne, too. She gets through med school and her residency and becomes a beloved pediatrician in an office where I've painted a different children's mural on the walls of every exam room. She's wanted to treat and keep kids healthy ever since I can remember.

"Oh . . . and Missy! She's going to be a famous singer or dancer. Or maybe an actress. I want to give her music lessons and dance classes . . . even acting when she's older. I'll send her to a children's theater group if she wants to go. You know what a drama princess she is."

Brian nods again and shifts gears, twining his fingers back together with Justin's. "Sounds like you've got all of us mapped out. Just one thing, though. I think you're underestimating yourself as far as the art world goes. Justin, you've got to know how talented you are. Your work is unique. People like you get famous in a hurry. A degree from PIFA would be nice, but one of your pieces could be seen at any time by the right critic . . . and boom! You're on your way to outrageous fame and fortune."

Justin takes his phone from his pocket, looking for the pictures he'd captured earlier of Brian and Missy asleep on the sofa. "I can't wait to get started on this one."

"Your portraits are moving," Brian tells him, "but I think it's going to be your abstract creations that set you apart from all the run-of-the-mill artists. Something like the one you're working on in your bedroom with the muted blues and grays - that one right there, if seen by the right people, could do it for you." Stopping at the intersection three blocks from the Spruce Street Arms, he takes Justin's phone in his hand. "She settled right down for me, even when she saw you and Daphne going out the door again with Dorothy."

Justin pockets his phone when Brian pulls away from the light. "She thinks she has three parents," he explains it.

. . .

"This tiny thing's a far cry from the designer bathroom in your loft, huh?" Justin jokes, soaping up his boyfriend's lean body in the cramped quarters of his shower.

"You won't be here forever. This is actually pretty nice for your first apartment." Brian takes the bottle of body wash from Justin, returning the favor. "You should have seen what I rented before I bought the loft," he goes on. "Which reminds me, I haven't revealed my glimpse into the future yet." Returning the body wash to the tiled ledge, he takes Justin's face in his hands. "Our future," he adds, forever shining brightly in his eyes.

Justin's pulse quickens; he forgets how to breathe.

"I see us buying a spacious home together out here in Southern Hills like the one you grew up in - only bigger! One with an entire wing for Daphne, a gigantic bedroom with an adjoining playroom for Missy, and a suite of rooms all to ourselves . . ." Brian pauses, sensing from Justin's posture that something's awry. "What's wrong?"

Looking away from Brian, Justin's words come haltingly. "I . . . I've never . . . wanted to jinx it by talking about it. Our . . . our future. Together."

Brian understands more from that statement than he ever has before. Sliding his hands from the sides of Justin's face to the back of his neck, he decides it's time for them to lay all of their cards on the table. "Like - with other things, too? You don't want to jinx . . . our love?" Bending slowly, he tenderly kisses his lips. "Justin, I know you love me."

Tipping his head downward after the kiss, Justin fixates on their wet feet. "We've never, um, had to say it with words. I like the way we've been communicating."

Brian doesn't give up. "I don't, you know, not like the way we communicate. But the words were just flowing on their own tonight. It was like I couldn't hold them in."

"I noticed." Justin turns off the water, stepping out into the steamy cubicle he calls his bathroom. "Even if it was ridiculously romantic."

Wrestling with his bemusement, Brian lingers inside the shower.

"Brian, you know how I feel about you. It's just, um, what you said before . . . about jinxing it." Handing him a towel, Justin studies his questioning face. "What we have is beautiful. Rare. Fragile. I don't want it to ever change. I want time to stand still. I want to never leave this place where we are right now."

"Naked? In this apartment bathroom with the fogged up mirror?"

"No. I sound pretty fucking dumb, don't I?"

"Dumb as Einstein. Justin, you're so smart it's scary. I wanna be you when I grow up. Come here."

. . .

Moving the party from the foggy bathroom to Justin's bed, he's happy, just as he is every time Brian's in it with him, that he went with the king-sized one when he was buying the furniture for the apartment. Lying across it sideways, wrapped up in each other's arms, is the perfect ending to a perfect night.

Well . . . so far.

When Justin crawls back up to Brian's face with a mouthful of his come to feed him, Brian drinks it down with a certain longing he's never given into before. A longing to be filled. By Justin. By Justin's hard dick, to be exact. Washing over him in the form of intense desire, it doesn't go away. He's ready. It came out of nowhere, but - he's ready.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, Brian finds what he needs in the nightstand drawer and returns to Justin with a coy grin. "Give me your hand," he says, covering his fingers with a huge glob from the bottle he'd taken out of the drawer. "Lube me up. Extra lube. Extra, extra lube. I'm a virgin, you know."

"Brian?!" Disbelief radiates from Justin's pores. "Are you sure? I mean, you've never . . . I've never . . . you want? Fuck! Are you sure?"

"Kind of needing you for this, you know? Don't have a meltdown now." Brian holds his gaze intently on Justin, extending the condom he'd taken with the lube out toward him. "I want you inside me," he whispers, rolling his lips in together. Slowly turning onto his stomach, he clutches a pillow and folds it under his arms and chest. The side of his face sinks down into the bed. "Fuck me. I want you to."

Only slightly skittish, he lets Justin spread his ass cheeks to expose his exceedingly tight hole. Brian's stomach is a little fluttery when the sensation of wet heat greets him, but he gradually decides he likes the way Justin's tongue licks the crack of his ass, not minding at all when it dares to poke inward a few times before starting to lick him again. Soon bucking his hips upward and backward, he shoves his hole into his mouth, moaning in ecstasy under his breath.

"Brian, you taste . . . God! I need to eat you!" Crouching between his open legs, Justin tongues his asshole for several minutes, both of their dicks swelling. "Your first rim job," he says proudly, Brian's ass dripping with his saliva. Smearing the lube on his fingers around the rim of Brian's asshole, Justin places the tip of his pinkie finger against it. "I don't want to hurt you," he says, gingerly pushing in just a bit. He hears Brian let out a gasping breath. "You okay?"

"Go."

Justin rubs his smallest finger back and forth, Brian trying to relax his muscles. He buries it deeper when Brian raises his hips again and backs into his hand, lightly at first and then more forcefully. Before long, Justin hears him start to mutter a string of favorable, if unintelligible, syllables, adding a second finger when the the time is right. "Brian, you're so hot like this. Do you want my cock?" Driving his raging hard-on into Brian's ass is all he craves.

"I want it." Brian enjoys his newly found pleasure, his voice hoarse with desire. When Justin carefully removes his fingers, he stays open. For him.

Sheathing himself with the condom, Justin lines the head of his pulsing cock up with Brian's open hole. They both hold their breath when he eases himself into it, his cock oozing pre-come into the tip of the condom.

"It hurts," Brian can't help but admit. "Does it always hurt?"

"A little. But that's a part of it." Justin thinks of his first time and the way Brian treated him. "I'm gonna go slowly. It's gonna feel unbelievably great in a few minutes. Try to relax." Waiting for Brian to adjust to his dick up his ass, Justin tenderly inches in when he feels the tenseness beginning to subside. "That's it," he murmurs. "Let me in." He feels Brian rocking under him and angling his ass for better penetration. Setting a steady rhythm with long, even strokes, he wills himself not to come. "Brian, you're . . . so tight. It's so good. I never wanna stop."

Soon rearing backward on every thrust, Brian fucks himself on Justin's dick, getting off on the sharp stabs to his prostate. "Aaahhh, Jesus! I'm gonna . . . Oh, fuck! It feels so . . . you feel so . . ."

Who knew getting fucked by your eighteen-year-old boyfriend robbed your ability to form a sentence?

Justin's never experienced anything quite like Brian's beautiful asshole squeezing his shaft beyond belief. Making him come on his sheets with only his dick inside of him, a dream he's envisioned for months has come true. "Brian?" he whispers, his come pouring into the condom as his body quivers.

Not waiting for a reply, Justin's declaration falls from his lips with incredible ease. He doesn't know why he ever hesitated. "I'm so in love with you."

. . .

TWO YEARS LATER

"Cynthia?" Picking up the phone on his desk in his stylish corner office at Ryder-Kinney Advertising, Brian pages his longtime personal assistant in his best daddy voice. "The princess and I need some cookies and milk in here. Think you can help us out?"

"Sure, boss. Cookies. Coming right up." Cynthia glances at her watch, hoping the cafeteria's still open. If not, she'll be hitting the nearest convenience store.

"And milk."

"Right. And milk." And wet wipes, she thinks. She's been through this routine before.

"Thanks, Cynthia." Hanging up, Brian swivels his desk chair around to face Missy, smiling at her with wide eyes and outstretched arms.

"Bwiiaan, we have cookies?" Abandoning the search into the bottom of her toy box behind his desk, the missing mate to her plastic high heels remains elusively buried beneath a mountain of toys. She hobbles to him in her dress-up outfit with one high heel flopping on her almost two-and-a-half-year-old foot, the other one comically bare. "Daddy says no cookies," she spouts as she climbs up into his lap, her wavy sandy-colored hair falling about her face in semi-uncontrollable tendrils.

"Hmmp . . . Daddy . . ." Brian affectionately taps the tip of her nose with his index finger, giving her a wink. "I won't tell him if you won't."

"No tell!" Missy giggles, reaching up to hug him around the neck. "Bwwiiaan, where Mommy and Daddy?"

"Remember? They went shopping for Mommy's pretty white dress? They'll be back before you know it."

"Mommy white dress?"

"For when she and Matt get married. Remember? We told you that you get a pretty white dress, too? And you get to sprinkle flower petals down the aisle where they'll walk?"

"Bwwiiaan, where the cookies?"

Bursting into laughter, Brian kisses her forehead. "Missy, you know what? I think it's time you learned how to say 'Brian' the right way. You're the smartest little girl in the world. I know you can do it."

"Bwwiiaan. I say it." The ill-fitting plastic high heel falls from her foot, landing somewhere under his desk.

"Bri-an. Try it again. Bri-an."

"Bwwii-aan. Where the cookies?"

"Did somebody order cookies and milk in here?" Cynthia sweeps into Brian's office with a tray from the cafeteria in her hands laden with gooey sugar cookies and two pints of milk. "You've got about ten minutes before Justin gets here," she tells him. "Remember the last time you took her out of day care and brought her down here and fed her co -"

"Don't worry about Justin," Brian interrupts. "I'll take care of Justin. I thought they were getting back around four."

"He called in to the day care about an hour ago. Told Laura he was coming to get her early. Said not to put her down for a nap."

"No nap," Missy manages to get out through a mouthful of sugar cookies. "You have one?" She holds a cookie out toward Cynthia, displaying the good manners she's been learning at home.

"No, sweetie. You and Brian have them. Thanks, though." Cynthia points to her watch and makes eye contact with her boss, hoping to save him from the wrath of the Cookie Police.

"I got it. I got it." He shoos her back out to her own desk. "Missy, what do we say to Cynthia?"

"Thank you, Cynsiah." Happily licking the sugar from her fingers, she touches Brian's cheek with the sticky little things.

"Okay. Let's try it again," he instructs, cleaning them up with a wet wipe and then dragging one across his face. "Bri-an."

"B . . . Br . . . Bw . . . Brriii . . ."

"That's good! I knew you could do it! Here. Take a drink of your milk." Opening the small carton and handing it to her, he doesn't care one whit when she spills a few drops on his silk tie. "Can you say it again?"

"Brrii . . ." She can't seem to get any further.

"Yay!" Clapping loudly and praising her intelligence, he encourages more practice while clearing their afternoon snack from his desk.

"Um, boss?" Brian hears Cynthia's warning over the intercom, aiming to give him a heads-up. "Justin's on his wa -"

"Daddyyy!" Missy squeals, Justin breezing in from the outer office. Wiggling down from Brian's lap, she runs into his waiting arms. "No nap at day care," she tells him when he whisks her up near his face.

"I know." He gives her a kiss on her chubby little cheek. "I told Miss Laura you didn't have to have one today. What are you doing down here in Brian's office?"

"Cookies and milk," she rats herself out.

"I can smell that." Setting her back down on her bare feet, Justin has to smother his grin. "Why don't you take off your dress-up clothes and put them back in your toy box so we can go home now? I'm gonna talk to Brian for a minute. Where're your shoes?"

"Bri's desk." Missy crawls under Brian's feet, holding up the dropped toy shoe when she resurfaces.

"Not your high heels. Your tennis shoes," Justin says. "Put your high heels back in the toy box. Brian, you know I don't like it when . . . Mmmm . . ."

Brian's walked over to him and pulled him close, kissing the sensitive spot on the side of his neck. Creeping his hands up Justin's chest, he drapes them over his shoulders. "How was the wedding dress shopping?" he asks after several heated kisses to his lips.

"Well, I think she's got it narrowed down to about fifteen; she just has to make a decision now!" Justin laughs. "Daphne's gonna bring Dorothy with her tomorrow to help her decide 'cause I've gotta finish the painting for the gallery. The buyer wants it by the weekend." Leaning comfortably on Brian's body, Justin feels the outside tension melt away. Taking a deep breath, he realizes he'll handily meet the gallery's deadline. "It's so much easier to work, now that I've dropped out of PIFA," he exhales. "Do you know how much this buyer offered them, just from viewing the pieces I've already got hanging in there?"

"Judging from the check you wrote to Pitt for Daphne's next semester, I'm sure it's a small fortune."

"Hey," Justin shrugs, scratching the top of his head. "At least one of us needs a formal education. Daph really wants to be a pediatrician. I'm so proud of her for sticking with it."

Brian pulls Justin by the hand back over to his desk. "Look at these estimates," he says, gathering three different bids by as many contractors from the top of a stack of client files. "They all said it wouldn't be a problem to add on to Daphne's side of the house. I was hoping we could have it done before she and Matt get back from their honeymoon. Wouldn't that be a cool wedding gift to them from us?"

"Very cool," Justin nods up at Brian, a brilliant plan hatching in his brain. "Maybe they can knock the wall down between the guest room and my studio. I need more space. That would double it." Taking Brian's face in his hands, their lips and tongues can't seem to separate.

"Daddy kissing Bri," Missy says to her teddy bear, bending its legs to sit on the sofa in the corner of Brian's office.

"And you know how we've always wanted a sunken tub with Jacuzzi jets in our bathroom?" Justin continues his architectural fantasy. "Maybe they could throw that in, too!" Rising up on tiptoe, he kisses Brian one more time.

"Daddy kiss Bri lots," the teddy bear's told.

Separating his mouth from Brian's, Justin's golden eyebrows zigzag with momentary distraction. "Is she calling you . . .?"

"Bri! Isn't it sweet? I knew she'd get it right one of these days!"


	6. Chapter 6

VICE VERSA - CHAPTER SIX

"Justin?"

"Um hmm?"

"Tell me again why we chose to have our bathroom all torn up, our lives disrupted by an endless chorus of sledge hammers and power tools, and our driveway and front curb cluttered with dirty pickup trucks all day long?" Brian folds the front section of the Pittsburgh Daily News, setting it down on the kitchen table next to the steaming hot egg-white omelet Justin's cooked for him.

"Dirty trucks," Missy repeats, her mouth full of Cheerios.

"Brian?"

"Um hmm?"

"You're being cranky again." Justin kisses his lips, handing him the sugar bowl from the center of the table. "Put some more sugar in your coffee. We're doing this 'cause we want to, we can afford it, and the house is gonna be awesome when it's done." Raising an eyebrow at Brian, he sits down to dig into his pancakes, preparing one for Missy on a separate plate. "All you've gotta do is keep thinking about how nice it's gonna be to come home after a long, hard day at the office, slip into our giant sunken tub with the Jacuzzi jets hitting us from all sides, and relax with a glass of Beam."

"More syrup, Daddy."

"Well, how much longer are they going to take?" Brian whines. "The shower in the hall bathroom isn't nearly big enough for . . . you know." Smiling at Missy, he steals a bite of her pancake.

"Roberto said two more weeks, but that was four weeks ago. At this point, I'm just glad they finished enlarging my studio on schedule. I barely completed the three pieces the gallery needed for the buyer on time. Now I've got to finish the wedding portrait I promised Daphne so they can display it at the reception. Brian, I asked you if you wanted pancakes with your omelet and you said - "

"I don't eat pancakes." Brian cuts him off and swipes one more bite from Missy's plate, she and Justin sharing amused expressions before she dissolves into fits of giggles.

"Daphne's kind of annoyed, too," Justin goes on. "She's anxious to get back into her bedroom. Sleeping in Missy's room all this time is gonna make her appreciate the addition to her suite that much more when it's finally finished. I hope it's big enough for her and . . ." Holding Brian's eyes with his own, he exchanges thoughts with him telepathically, both reading the unease that festers in the other's mind.

"I've gotta get to the office." Brian changes the subject, yet he knows it's far from over. They'll pick it up again that evening, the 'Matt' dilemma never seeming to get resolved. "Come here." Rising from the table, he pulls Justin up, too, their lips sealing together for a long moment while their tongues say good-bye. "I don't really like the way Roberto stares at your ass," he whispers at the end of the kiss. "I wish they'd hurry the fuck up with this remodel."

Justin now raises both of his eyebrows at Brian, shaking his head slowly.

Brian gets the message, responding with a dimpled grin. "Cranky. I know."

. . .

"Kick, kick, kick, Missy! Kick those feet faster!" Justin holds his three-year-old daughter horizontally on the surface of the water in the shallow end of their backyard pool, her swimming lessons progressing nicely for the second summer in a row. "Come on," he encourages. "We want to show Mommy how well you're doing when she gets home from her class."

Kicking up a storm, Missy tries to add the arm movements her daddy has her working on, the late afternoon sun shining brightly in the sky.

Justin realizes they need another coat of sunscreen before it burns them to a crisp. "That's it, honey," he tells her. "You're going to be swimming all by yourself pretty soon. Let's take a break for a few minutes." Standing Missy on the steps, he helps her out of the pool, barely slathering her with the lotion before she wriggles away from him and runs toward her swing set. "Matt!" Justin looks up to find Daphne's fiancé staring him in the face, more than a little startled to see that he's seemingly materialized out of thin air. "I didn't hear you come in. How did you . . .? Um, Daphne gave you a key?"

"Yeah. I hope you don't mind. I heard you and Missy out here in the pool, so I let myself in."

Actually, Justin does mind, a litany of problematic thoughts refusing to be ignored: Daphne's wedding, for one, scheduled at the end of June. This guy moving into their house with them. Missy acquiring a stepfather. With less than a month to open Daph's eyes, he's still hoping he's wrong.

"Daphne will be home in a few minutes," Matt's voice registers in Justin's ears. "We're going out to dinner." Taking in the construction site their home has become, his eyes light up. "Looks like Roberto's whipping his crew into shape. The house'll be done soon?"

"Uh, yeah. Only a few more weeks. Missy and I were just going inside. She's getting tired." Justin walks over to the swing set and gathers her in his arms. Leaving Matt in a lawn chair outside, he walks past him and up to the patio door, hoping for the opportunity to talk to Daphne alone. Soon.

"We going in? I want you push me on the swing."

"Yeah, we've got to go in. You know why?"

"Why?"

"We're gonna paint today!"

"Paint?!" Missy throws her arms around Justin's neck, hugging her daddy tightly. "I finish my picture?"

"Uh huh. That's exactly what we're gonna do. Let's get you into some dry clothes."

. . .

"Justin, that feels . . . aahh!" Brian exhales, his rock-hard cock crammed so far down Justin's throat they're going to have to send a search party after it. Writhing under him, he fucks his boyfriend's talented mouth, fondling the back of his neck and playing in his long yellow hair. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard, Justin. So hard . . ." The tightness in his balls takes over, long strings of come boiling up out of him.

Drinking it down in long swallows, Justin can almost feel Brian's orgasm himself, his own cock leaking in anticipation. Gradually pulling off of his dick, he leaves soft little kisses all over it - promises of more of the same later.

Three years they've had to perfect this dance. Three years to finely tune their love and its physical expression. Silently, Brian reaches for Justin, pulling him up into his arms. "How do you do that?" he breathes into the side of his face, awed by the fact that it still feels wonderfully new every time.

Justin shrugs a combination of pride and modesty. "Um, I learned from the master?" It's a thoughtfully crafted question, more stating than asking. Turning his face into Brian's, he kisses him deeply, leaving the taste of his come in his mouth.

"I've gotta eat your ass," Brian murmurs after several minutes of trying to swallow Justin's face. "Now." Turning him onto his stomach, he sensually licks a path down the center of his back, ending between his gorgeous ass cheeks.

Justin's ass. All for him. It still makes him hard just thinking of it. Brian's dick starts to swell again, his tongue digging into the crack of Justin's ass. Snaking a hand under him, he grasps his still-oozing cock when Justin raises his ass from the bed, pushing backward into his face.

"Jesus, Brian!" Justin voices his approval, Brian's fist pumping his thick shaft up and down.

"Don't come yet," Brian whispers. "I'm gonna fuck you. Justin? You're so wet. You're dripping." Lining up his pulsing dick with Justin's saliva-coated hole, he slowly pushes the head of his bare cock inside. Meeting beautiful resistance when the walls of Justin's ass clamp up, Brian presses steadily in, gasping aloud at the friction.

"I love feeling you inside me." Rising to his hands and knees while Brian's cock jabs into his prostate, Justin's groans signal his imminent release. Coming in Brian's hand, he feels him shoot ten seconds later, his skin tingling with pleasure when Brian's lips kiss and suck the place on the side of his neck that drives him wild. Justin thinks he might have died and gone to heaven as Brian hooks his free arm around his heaving chest, squeezing him backward snugly against his heart.

But even heaven couldn't be as good as this.

"I love you, Brian," Justin whispers into the still of the night, sensing Brian's breath catching in his throat.

Lying down together, they don't disengage, hardly able to fall asleep anymore unless Brian's dick is up Justin's ass, his arms holding him fast.

This night is no exception.

. . .

"Hey. How was dinner? Where did he take you?" Reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water, Justin stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes. At three in the morning, he forces himself out of his drowsiness, seizing the chance to talk to Daphne in their moonlit kitchen. "You want a yogurt?" he asks, hoping to keep her there.

"Sure. I couldn't sleep." Daphne takes the container from him, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. "We just ended up going back to his place because he said all the nice restaurants were booked and not taking any more reservations." Relaxing at the kitchen table, she opens her peach yogurt.

Justin slides in beside her, propping his feet on an empty chair and leaning back lazily. "That's strange. Matt was here at four o'clock this afternoon, telling me he was gonna take you out to dinner. He would have had plenty of time to make reservations somewhere." Studying her face in the darkness, he checks for any telltale signs of trouble that might have cropped up between Daphne and Matt recently. "I didn't know you'd given him a key to the house."

"Well, he'll need one when we get married and he moves in."

Nope. No trouble. Shit! Draining half his water, he doesn't like what he's about to say. "Daph, are you sure this wedding is such a good idea? I mean, how well do you really know Matt? Doesn't it seem like you're rushing things a bit?"

Daphne smiles happily, leaning over to kiss Justin's cheek. "I know what this is," she nods, one corner of her mouth turned up. "You're jealous. You're afraid Matt's gonna replace you in my life and we won't be as close as we've always been, aren't you? Justin, no one could ever come between us. You can stop worrying now. Matt and I love each other just as you and Brian love each other, but you and I will always be best friends. Nothing can ever change that or erase the history between us."

Justin can see he's got his work cut out for him, the stars in Daphne's eyes firmly set. "Um, I'm not really worried about that, Daph. I know our bond can never be broken, by anyone or anything. It's just that . . . I don't know about Matt. He seems . . ."

"What are you trying to say, Justin?" Daphne drops the spoon into her empty yogurt container and pushes it away, her fiery eyes questioning her best friend since fifth grade in a way that makes him hate this conversation.

"Well, just that . . . I'm sure he loves you and everything, but I don't know if he's cool with Brian and me. And what about Missy? He's going to end up with all of us when he marries you. Brian and I are trying to give you guys your own space with the addition to the house, but still, we've all got to mesh together with these living arrangements. He seems . . . uncomfortable with all of it."

"He's fine with it. He's never said it's going to be a problem."

Justin's stomach knots up. "I don't think he likes Brian and me very much. And he's got no rapport with Missy at all. The whole thing just feels . . . wrong."

"Feels wrong?" Daphne spits out. "He's marrying me, not you and Brian. And it doesn't feel wrong to me." She stands up from the table in a huff. "God, Justin! You're supposed to be happy for me." Leaving him alone in the unlit kitchen, she stomps back to Missy's room, where she's been bunking for the last six weeks.

"I wish you'd tell Roberto to hurry up with this remodel from hell," Justin hears her call out just before she closes Missy's door - much louder than necessary.

. . .

Brian stirs slightly when Justin crawls back into bed. Reaching out, he pulls him against his body without opening his eyes. "Is Missy okay?" he mumbles. "I heard her door."

"Missy's fine," Justin sighs, nestling his head on Brian's chest. "Daphne hates me."

"You talked to her?" Brian's arms encircle him tightly. "I thought we were going to do it together."

"No sense having her hate both of us. We were alone in the kitchen, and I just went for it. It wasn't pretty."

"Maybe we're wrong about him."

"I hope so."

. . .

"Missy, go tell Mommy I made waffles this morning." Setting four places at the table, Justin's determined to make amends with Daphne before she and Missy go to the dressmaker for their final fittings.

"Waffles?" Brian breezes into the kitchen, wearing his gray sweatpants and sleeveless tee shirt, ready to work out after breakfast. "I can still feel your cock in my ass," he sidles up to Justin and whispers in his ear. "You already had your workout."

Justin gives him a peck on the lips. "Don't worry. I made you an omelet," he says, opening the fridge to look for the pitcher of orange juice. "Heaven forbid you consume anything, you know, delicious. Well, you did eat me," he deadpans. "I guess that counts."

"Morning, guys," Daphne greets them, sitting at the table after she helps Missy climb up into her booster chair.

"Hey," Brian smiles at her. "Ready for the final wedding gown fitting?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. I shouldn't be having this waffle, but . . ." Daphne helps herself to one of Justin's Belgian waffles, taking one for Missy, too. "I never can resist when Justin makes breakfast. I wish I didn't have to leave for school so early during the week," she sighs. "Saturday and Sunday are the only days I get to splurge."

"Daph, I'm really sorry about last night. I never should have -"

"It's okay," she jumps in quickly. "I'm sorry I stormed off."

"Pre-wedding jitters." Justin kisses her forehead before he sits down. "That's all it was."

"I thought about what you said, and you're right," she goes on. "If we're all gonna be living under the same roof, there can't be any tension. I'm going to talk to Matt about everything again and make sure he knows what he's getting into. I mean, I'm a packaged deal. He's got to know that. If he wants me, he gets all of us."

"Daddy, how come you get two waffles? Me and Mommy only got one."

"Mommy and I," Justin and Daphne correct Missy at the same time, an explanation of his overcrowded plate following in the next breath. "I'm only having one. The other one's for Brian to steal, bite by bite, when he thinks no one's looking."

"I don't eat waffles," Brian reminds all of them, catching a drop of syrup with his tongue before it rolls off of his lip.

Missy giggles the loudest. "Bri steals my pancakes," she snitches on him, just as her sippy cup slips from her little hand and dislodges its snap-on lid. "Oh, no! It falled!" she gasps, orange juice splattering everywhere.

"That's why you have your bath after breakfast," Daphne tells her, sopping most of it up with napkins. "Let's finish eating, and then we have to get you cleaned up so you can come with me to try on your pretty flower girl dress.

"Do you want more juice, honey?" Justin tosses the fallen cup and lid into the sink, reaching into the cabinet for a clean one.

. . .

Brian stands in the doorway of Justin's studio, perspiration glistening on his forehead and bleeding through the front of his tee shirt. "It's really coming along," he says, admiring the half-finished portrait of Daphne and Matt resting on the easel near the window. He pats the sweat from his brow with a hand towel, Justin rinsing out his brushes in the sink.

"Think they'll like it?" Justin calls out over the running water.

"What's not to like?" Brian shrugs, his hands turned outward. "It's beautiful. I'm going for a swim. Can you take a break?"

"Yeah. I was only waiting for you to finish." Justin joins Brian in the doorway, sliding his hand under his damp tee shirt and tickling his well defined abs. "I peeked into your workout room when you were on your four thousandth sit-up. How do you do that anyway?"

"I just picture you leaving me for someone your own age, and I'm good for five hundred more. Works every time." Pulling Justin from his studio into the bathroom down the hall, Brian turns on the shower.

"Good thing I'm into prime aged cock, isn't it?" Justin laughs. Stripping and joining Brian under the spray, he rinses the paint from his fingers and hair, Brian's sweat replaced with the scent of expensive sandalwood body wash and shampoo. "Speaking of prime aged cock," he says to Brian's rapidly rising dick.

Considering his good fortune, Brian wonders what he ever did to deserve Justin in his life. He smiles at his boy, cock twitching. "I thought we were talking about your twenty-one-year-old hard body," he says. "Speaking of young dick . . ." Brian beholds the beauty of Justin's youthful pink erection. "Come here."

Kissing in a hot shower with probing tongues, roaming hands, and mashed-together cocks is just one aspect of Saturday mornings Brian and Justin treasure. They're sure there are others, yet neither can think of just what they could be at that particular moment.

Like horny teenagers, they each grip the other's cock, tugging, squeezing, and twisting with familiar expertise. Never breaking the kiss, they come into one another's fist, Justin's free hand caressing the back of Brian's neck and Brian's affectionately kneading his ass cheeks.

"I love you, Justin. You know that, right?" Brian's lips fold inward, his eyebrows raising.

"I've had an inkling for awhile now." Justin's grin spreads across his face, his eyes alive with emotion. "I'd ever look at anyone else, my age or any other age. You know that, right?"

"I've had an inkling for awhile now."

. . .

"Turn over. Let me get your back." Brian rubs Justin's chest, shoulders, and arms with sunscreen before dutifully attending to his back. When they can't take the sun a minute longer, they drag themselves out of their chaise lounges, dipping into the pool for a couple of leisurely laps.

"Do you think our bathroom will be done any time soon?" Justin asks, sitting with Brian on the steps to rest. "Just think of what we can do in that Jacuzzi!" he exclaims, savoring the thought of their shower hand jobs an hour earlier.

"I sure as fuck hope so. That thing better be worth all the gawking at your ass I've had to put up with from Roberto. I'm not kidding, Justin. He stares! Every chance he gets. I wonder how old he is." Brian leans across Justin's knees, pulling him into a long kiss.

Laughing quietly, Justin smooths Brian's wet hair out of his eyes. He stands in the shallow water and brushes his own wet hair off of his forehead, Brian following and backing him up against the side of the pool, blanketing his face and neck with possessive kisses.

"You're getting hard again," Brian whispers, bending his knees and grinding their crotches together.

"I wonder why," Justin whispers back, the stillness of the moment burning into his heart. These are the times he cherishes most.

"Yeah, they're loaded . . . both of them. You should see this house. It's decorated up the ass, and they're in the process of having it remodeled right now. They're shelling out a huge chunk of change like it's a drop in the bucket. They're probably worth millions."

Brian and Justin sink a little lower down the side of the pool, careful not to splash, Matt's voice carrying out to the backyard over the intercom system they bought when they'd moved in. At just a year old back then, Missy's cries could be heard from anywhere in the house. They'd had monitors installed on the patio the first summer, the three of them listening for her in her crib when they'd kicked back outside after dinner. Now they never know whether the system is on or off because Missy likes to play with the switch.

"He must have let himself in with his key," Justin whispers. "Who the fuck is he talking to?"

"He's on his phone," Brian mouths.

Matt's only getting started with the self-incrimination. "I marry her, move in here, and I've got it made. Probably won't even have to work. Hell, they support her. Why not me, too?" His laughter turns Brian's stomach.

"If I can stand it, though. Her kid's father is a goddamned fag. Can't keep his hands off his boyfriend . . . who's twelve years older than he is. It's disgusting. I can just imagine what they do to each other in their part of the house."

"I'm gonna kill him." Justin wants to get out of the water and commit murder in his living room, but Brian's cooler head prevails.

"That's not gonna help anything. I'm almost positive the federal penitentiary won't grant us conjugal visits. Let him keep talking. We need hard evidence to present to Daphne."

"If I can't stand it here, I'll just convince her to move out. We'll get our own place. The kid? I don't know. Kids grow up every day living with only one parent. She'll just have to join the ranks of kids from broken homes and see him every other weekend."

Now physically restraining Justin from leaping out of the pool, Brian's suddenly thankful that he works out religiously and that he's significantly taller.

"Or better yet, I'll get her to leave the kid with him. Then we wouldn't have to be bothered with her. Let the fags deal with the brat."

"Matt?! What the fuck?" It's Daphne, back from her final wedding gown fitting, standing in the living room with her fiancé.

"Oh! Hi, baby! I didn't hear you come in. Talk to you later, Steve." Matt flips his phone shut, nearing Daphne and her aforementioned bratty kid.

Instinctively backing away from him, Daphne lifts Missy up and hugs her closely into her body. "What are you talking about?" she shouts. "'Let the fags deal with the brat?' What the fuck is that?"

"I, um . . . didn't mean it like that. Well, they are homosexuals. I just meant if we got our own place, Missy could stay here with them."

"Are you out of your mind?" Daphne screams at him. "I would never leave my daughter! Neither would Justin! Is that what you thought would happen?" Her voice quivers with disbelief. And anger. "I think you better get the fuck out of here!"

"Come on, Daphne. You don't mean that. I love you." Matt inches up to her.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" she shrieks. "Get out of here!"

"Hey! You heard her! Get the fuck away from her!" Brian yells, he and Justin bolting into the house dripping wet. He comes at Matt with fire in his eyes.

Justin races over to Daphne, taking Missy from her arms. At this size, she's not exactly easy to hold for a long time. "You okay? Did he hurt you?" Slinging his arm around her shoulders, he draws her into his side.

Leaning into Justin's chest, Daphne starts to cry, Missy clinging to her daddy with tightly closed eyes.

"Did he hurt you?" Justin asks again, he and Brian waiting for Daph's reply. Matt's fate obviously depends on it.

"No," Daphne chokes out, her sobs becoming audible.

"Get out!" Brian explodes. "Now!" Swinging their front door open, he seriously hopes he doesn't do something to Matt he'll regret. "If you ever come near Daphne or Missy again, I'll kill you with my bare hands!" He slams the door in his face when Matt pauses on the threshold for one last appeal in Daphne's direction.

"Daph, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to have to hear all that," Justin utters sadly, guiding her over to the sofa. His arm stays firmly in place around her as they sit.

"Don't cry, Mommy," Missy says softly, her daddy still keeping her safe. "What's a fag?"

Daphne slowly lifts her head from Justin's chest. "All that?" she sniffles, Brian handing her several tissues he'd gotten from the kitchen. "There was more? Where were you guys? What else did you hear?"

"We were out in the pool," Justin tells her. "I guess he didn't see us. The intercom was on."

"He must have let himself in and thought nobody was home," Brian says.

"Shit!" the three of them exclaim together, Daphne shaking her head at her stupidity. "The key!"

"Let's just get the locks changed," Justin comforts her.

"Tell me what else he said."

Having a silent conversation with their eyes, Brian and Justin decide to give her the toned-down version.

"Uh, he likes the house," Brian says.

"And our money," Justin adds. "He might have been thinking of quitting his job."

Daphne looks aghast. "Oh, my God! He never said anything like that! What else?"

"Well," Justin goes on, "he was concerned about, um, our part of the house." He glances up at Brian. "And Brian's age."

"That asshole. I've been so naive." Daphne dabs at her eyes with the tissues again. "I thought he loved me."

"It's not you he doesn't love," Brian tries to spare her any more devastation. "It's . . . Justin and me. And - " He nods down toward Missy, buried into Justin's shoulder. "I don't think he was crazy about the idea of becoming a stepfather."

"So you've had the right impression all along, Justin," a rueful Daphne admits. "You tried to warn me. I was so blind."

Justin kisses her forehead sweetly. "I think it's good you found out his true colors now. Before you married him. Just imagine the problems you would have had in the future with him trying to persuade you to move out and leave Missy here."

"Daddy? I a brat?" Missy finally peeks out, sensing that normalcy is returning.

Justin and Daphne could wring Matt's neck for introducing their daughter to such ugly terms, Brian just itching to make good on his bare-handed killing threat.

"No, honey." Justin hugs her extra tightly. "You're the best little girl in the world. Sometimes grown-ups say things that aren't true because they're ignorant and scared." Tapping his index finger lightly on the tip of her nose, he hopes the memory of her mother's almost-marriage to a hate-filled homophobe won't be permanent.

"Daddy, what's igarant?"

"Missy, you know what?" Daphne attempts to pull herself together for the sake of her daughter. "We've got plenty of time to explain all these things to you when you're older. I think we should get into our bathing suits so you and Daddy can show me how well you're learning to swim." She looks to Justin for help. "How does that sound?"

"Perfect! You won't believe how fast this girl can kick! I'll meet you guys out back." Helping Missy climb off of him, Justin watches her run down the hall to her room. "I love you," he says quietly to Daph, giving her a hand up.

"I know." She musters a tiny smile, her reddened eyes reflecting her first genuine heartache. "I guess I'll call Emmett and tell him to cancel everything. Do you think you can get your money back on the reception hall?"

"It's okay if I can't," Justin assures her. "It's worth it to me to know this train wreck has been stopped before it goes any further."

Brian opens his phone, scrolling for locksmiths. "Why don't you let me deal with Emmett?" he suggests. "First I'm gonna get someone out here to change the locks, and then I'll call him. I was going to talk to him about some clothes anyway."

"Thanks, Brian." Daphne gives him a peck on the cheek before following Missy down the hall.

"Jesus," Justin sighs, walking over to Brian. "I can't believe what just happened here. That fucker really hurt her."

"I'm just glad it's over." Brian rests his forehead down against Justin's. "Daphne's strong. She'll be okay in time."

"Come on, Daddy! Let's go out!" Missy appears in the living room again, half dressed in her little one-piece swimsuit, not able to wrestle its straps over her arms. She runs to the patio door and stops short, having learned that she's forbidden to go out into the backyard without an adult. "We go in the pool? Please?"

Justin tips his face upward, kissing Brian's lips. "You gonna come out with us?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in a few minutes. Let me make these calls. Should I have a hit put out on Matt?"

"By all means. Call your people!" Justin's ear-to-ear grin rubs off on Brian. Fixing Missy's bathing suit on her, he takes her hand and opens the patio door. "Thank you for waiting for me. See? I told you you're the best little girl in the world."

"I'm getting a hellacious headache," Daphne states, emerging from the war zone that's her half-completed suite of rooms in a bikini top and cutoff jeans. "I need drugs."

Brian fishes in the kitchen cabinet for the Tylenol. "For the record," he says, handing her the pills, "Matt's loss is gonna be someone else's beautiful gain one of these days." He takes a bottled water from the fridge for her. "He didn't deserve you."

Daphne doses herself up, smiling at him. "Aw, you say that to all the girls, don't you, Brian?"

"Daphne, before you go outside, can I talk to you?" Brian walks over to the intercom panel, flipping the switch off. Looking out of the kitchen window, he and Daph watch Missy and Justin splash their way through the day's lesson. "I don't want Justin to hear this," he starts, "but I was thinking - and I will absolutely not take it one step further if you don't like the idea in any way, shape, or form. You know how all the preparations are pretty much set for a wedding and reception on June twenty-fifth?"

. . .

"Whoa, Missy! You've gotta come up for air sometime!" Justin hoists his daughter upright out of the water, thumping her several times on the back until she catches her breath. "You can't breathe while your face is in the water! I guess we know what to work on next, don't we?"

Missy coughs and sputters, removing her hair from her eyes while Justin holds her over his shoulder. When she can focus again, she peers into the kitchen window. "Daddy?"

"What, honey?"

"Mommy kissing Bri."

. . .

"Yeah, Emmett? It's Brian. Listen, I've gotta talk to you. Are you working at Torso right now? ...You've got a customer? ...I'll hold on til you get rid of him. I mean, until you sell him some fabulous article of clothing." Rolling his eyes at his phone, Brian wonders what the fuck Emmett is doing wasting his time in retail when his talents clearly lie in wedding planning. The few times they've had him out to the house to discuss Daphne's desires for her dream wedding, he's been nothing short of brilliant, coming up with all sorts of ideas and practical ways to pull off the small miracle.

"...Yeah, I'm here. ...Daphne? She's fine. ...Matt? He's history. ...Wait! Emmett, wait a minute before you start freaking the fuck out! I think we're still gonna go through with all the plans you've made. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you think you can substitute two different people for the bride and groom? ...Fuck! That squeal of yours is gonna pierce somebody's eardrum - like mine! Calm down, would you? We're gonna need matching dark Versace suits. Do you still have his measurements I gave you when I bought him the leather pants? ...Good. I'll give you mine before we hang up. ...Yeah, everything the same: the place, the time, and the food. Were you able to locate the golden gardenias? ...Good. Keep those, too." Brian holds his phone out away from his ear, Emmett going off on some tangent about the Sichuan, Banna mountains in southern China.

"...Emmett? You're really good at this shit. How would you like to start your own wedding planning business? ...Capital? ...Collateral? That's what I would be for. ...Yes, I'd do that for you. ...Because I don't have bad ideas. I told you. You're really good at this shit."

More squealing.

Holding his phone away from his ear again, Brian suddenly remembers the most important piece of information to point out to his wedding planner. "And Emmett? Zip up those loose lips of yours. I don't want this making the rounds on Liberty Avenue. Or anywhere else, for that matter." Reality zaps him squarely in the gut, a joyous smile lighting up his eyes. "...Because I haven't asked him yet!"


	7. Chapter 7

VICE VERSA - CHAPTER SEVEN

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What time do you think you'll be home tonight?"

"Oh, did I forget to tell you this morning? I'm not coming home." Brian smiles slyly into his cell phone. "Tonight's the night I'm running away with Ricky Martin."

"Shit! You did forget to tell me that. Oh, well, I guess this means I'll just have to sit here in our finished bathroom, luxuriating in our finished Jacuzzi, sipping a glass of Beam all by myself." Justin takes a sip of his Beam - all by himself.

"They finished? No fucking way!"

"Yes fucking way. About two hours ago. I just wiped the fine layer of dust off of everything, hung the new bath sheets out on the rack, and . . ."

"I'm leaving now. See you in about twenty minutes." Picking up a few client files he could work on from home, Brian tosses them right back down onto his desk, work certain to be the furthest subject from his mind that evening. He does, however, carefully unlock his bottom desk drawer and remove the two black velvet boxes that have been stored inside for the past week. "And Justin?" he adds, slipping them safely into his briefcase.

"Um hmm?"

"I love you."

"What about Ricky Martin?"

"Smartass."

. . .

"I'm leaving early today. I need you to reschedule my afternoon appointments to tomorrow." Brian stops at Cynthia's desk in the outer office, loosening his tie with one hand. His anxious smile foretells his story.

"Oh, my God! It's finished?"

"Jesus, Cynthia, am I that transparent?" Checking the crystal clock on her desk he and Justin had given her for Christmas, Brian sees that he's already lost five minutes. He wonders if she can hear his heart pounding.

"Go!" She waves him off, standing and planting an affectionate kiss on his cheek. "Congratulations, Brian! In advance, I guess. This is so exciting!" she chatters on. "Oh! Did you remember the rings in the drawer?"

Halfway down the corridor toward the exit, Brian pats his briefcase. "Got 'em!" he calls out with a widening grin.

. . .

"Bri's home! Bri's home!" Missy shouts when she hears Brian's car pull into the garage.

"Yeah, Brian's home, honey, but he probably won't play checkers with you before dinner like he did last night," Daphne prepares her. "I'm going to make chicken and macaroni and cheese for us. I don't think Daddy and Brian are going to eat with us tonight."

"Why?"

"Well, they just want to try out their brand new Jacuzzi. It's like a new toy for them."

"New toy?"

"Um hmm. I guess you could call it a toy for grown-ups."

"Bri!" Missy jumps up and down in front of Brian as soon as he comes into the house. She can handle no checkers, but skipping her hug and kiss is out of the question. "Daddy's in the 'cuzzi!"

"He is?" Scooping her up into his arms, Brian brings her to his face for a kiss. "How's the princess today?" Throwing an eager glance toward Daphne in the kitchen, he sets Missy back down when she starts to squirm. "I don't think Justin and I are gonna - "

"Got it covered. Missy and I are going to have her favorite dinner, and then we've got a date with her Disney DVD collection in my new bonus room. Did you remember the - ?" Daphne points to her left ring finger, raising her eyebrows at Brian.

"Right here." He holds up his briefcase. "Kind of in a hurry, okay?" Smiling devilishly at Daphne and Missy, Brian rapidly disappears toward his Jacuzzi.

"Play with his new toy?" Missy asks her mom.

"Definitely!"

. . .

"Holy fuck! Justin!" Brian can't believe the scene he walks in on. "It's beautiful! You're beautiful! You started without me?!"

"Just a little. Get naked!" Justin takes another sip of his Beam, throwing his head back as he swallows. "It feels so bubbly in here! You're gonna love it, Brian!"

"You look fucking hot in there. Your dick bobbing in the bubbles . . ." Brian kicks off his shoes and drops his suit pants to his feet, quickly stepping out of them. "Bare-assed, tipsy Justin in our new Jacuzzi. We may never leave this room again." His dress shirt and tie are soon thrown on top of his pants.

"Come and fuck me. I can't wait any longer." Setting his glass down, Justin fondles his balls in the swirling water. "Hurry!"

"Ouch! Shit!" Brian lowers himself gingerly into the water. "What temperature do you have it on?"

"Hot." Justin strokes his dick, teasing Brian deliberately. "I've been thinking about you all . . ." His voice drops an octave, and Brian's instantly hard. ". . . day. I really need you to -"

Brian shuts him up with lips that urgently lick at his and arms that cling to him tightly. "You've been thinking about me?" he repeats against his ear, weaving his hand between his legs. "Must be why you're so hard." His cock pokes at Justin's hip as he massages his cock and balls in the water. "I'm gonna suck you, and then I'm gonna fuck your pretty little ass." Squeezing the head of Justin's pulsating cock, Brian rubs his thumb back and forth over the slit.

Justin melts in his arms, gasping softly at the sensation.

"Stand up. I want you to come in my mouth." Brian maneuvers him until he's standing in front of him, cock pointing directly at his lips. Slipping his hands behind him, he pushes Justin's ass forward and sucks on the swelled head of his dick, his tongue lapping the pre-come out of it.

Eyes dreamily closed, Justin lets Brian's hands on his ass guide his movements, his come soon shooting into his mouth uncontrollably. Collapsing onto Brian's lap in a pliant heap, he wraps his arms around his neck. "Fuck me, Brian. Please!"

"Turn around." Brian lifts Justin's buoyant body and places his back against his chest, inching his cock inside his hole when he sits. Fucking him for what feels like hours, his balls finally tighten up and his cock erupts. Squeezing Justin backward into his body, he sucks on the side of his neck, the aerated water roaring all around them.

Justin rolls his head backward and rests on Brian's shoulder, neither of them in any hurry to separate. "That was fucking amazing," he whispers.

"You're fucking amazing." Brian reaches for the glass of Beam Justin had poured for him before he got home. "I need to catch up with you," he laughs, savoring the smooth whiskey.

"I think you fucked me sober." Finding his glass, Justin sips the remaining third left in it. "Can you believe it's finally finished? What do you think?"

"I think I want to fuck you in this thing every night for the rest of my life. Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want me to fuck you in this thing every night for the rest of your life? Come here." Brian slowly sets his glass down, helping Justin off of his dick and turning him back around in his lap. Splaying his hands on either side of his face, he kisses him deeply.

Lacing his fingers together behind Brian's neck, Justin gazes into his eyes. "It feels as if you really missed me today or something." The same wavelength they usually occupy seems to have gone haywire. He can't read Brian's eyes, other than to sense the seriousness of the situation.

"I want to make it official."

"You want to officially miss me? I don't think you have to register for that." Sometimes Justin wonders how he ever got so lucky.

"I want to make us official. For the rest of our lives. You and me. And this. All of it. Loving, living, fucking, breathing, laughing, being . . . together. Forever." Brian skims his hands lightly up and down Justin's arms, his luminous brown eyes with their flecks of green and gold backing up his words.

Justin remembers the very first time Brian walked into his line of vision. His eyes did the same thing to him that night: held him spellbound, asked him in, promised both the unknown and safekeeping. "Forever?" he repeats, just because he likes the sound of it.

"How about marrying me?" Brian stops the movement of his hands, suspending the moment in time.

Knowing the precise second when Brian's lips will roll inward and press against each other, Justin wipes at the moisture involuntarily pooling in the corner of his eye when it happens. "Marry you?"

"I think Roberto built an echo into this bathroom. Justin, I've loved you for three years. I want to stay with you and love you for a hundred more. Will you marry me?"

Justin kisses the tiny grin forming on Brian's lips. "You sound serious. Like you want to make it official."

"Wow. Nothing gets by you, does it?"

"I'd love to marry you, Brian. But . . ."

"But?" Brian squints, his brow furrowed, suddenly battling a heavy-duty case of nerves.

"I've kind of got some issues with marriage. I have to pee." Dragging himself out of the water, Justin wraps one of their new bath sheets around his waist and pads across the vast tiled expanse to the enclosure where the toilet is.

Brian sinks lower into the bubbles, nursing his whiskey. And his anxiety. Issues? What issues?

"I've always thought of marriage as some kind of doomsday machine," Brian hears him admit as he pisses. "When my parents got divorced, I saw how even the most ideal unions seem to be destined to self-destruct." Flushing the stool, Justin washes his hands on his side of the dual-sink vanity and then sits on the edge of their new sunken tub. "You know what I mean?" he goes on. "It's just that what we have is magic. I don't want to fuck it up. I love you so much, sometimes I think my heart is gonna burst open because all of it won't fit in there. I guess I'm sort of afraid of . . . um . . ."

"Of what?" Brian takes his hand, wanting to get it. "Tell me."

"Well, uh, of locks. On our doors. We're choosing to be together now because we want to be. Knowing that you'll be coming home to me every night is what gets me through every day. I like that it's a choice. Locking us in would change that."

Brian nods in understanding. "I see your point," he agrees. "I like the choice, too. I'm so fucking lucky that you choose me every day. What if I told you I'm certain we'll be spared the dismal fate of the doomsday machine and self-destruction? What if we still picture our door with no locks on it? Still consciously choose to be together every day? I don't want anything to change either. I just like the idea of standing up in front of our friends and family, declaring our love openly and celebrating it with them." Raising one eyebrow, he invites Justin into his vision.

"Like you did at the Ad Person of the Year banquet?"

"Exactly! But this time we'll wear matching Versace suits! Emmett has it all taken care of. What are you doing on June twenty-fifth?"

"Marrying you?"

"I love the way your not locked-in mind works." Brian's hand creeps to the back of Justin's neck when he kisses him.

"I love choices, don't you?" Justin murmurs.

Drying off a little, Brian walks over to the corner of the bathroom where he'd dropped his briefcase. "I want to show you something," he says. "I've been planning this ridiculously romantic proposal for two weeks, just waiting for the Jacuzzi to be finished." Sitting on the side of the tub next to Justin, he holds the ring boxes in his hands.

"Rings?! Brian, you bought rings?"

"We can't have a wedding without rings, can we?" he laughs, opening the lids and revealing two sterling silver wedding bands. "We can exchange them for anything you like. I just wanted to have them when I asked you." He waits for a reaction. "Justin?"

"They're . . . they're . . . you're gonna make me cry." Justin wipes away another tear. "Brian, I love you. They're beautiful. I don't want anything else. Just you. I choose you."

"And I do know you have choices." Brian sets them on the shelf next to the huge vanilla-scented candle Justin had lit earlier in the afternoon. "That guy on the dance floor at Babylon last weekend was hot. He was leering at you. He wanted a turn after me to hold you and kiss you and rub his crotch against yours."

Justin laughs softly as they shed their towels, climbing back into the tub. "I guess so," he shrugs.

"But you're mine. Come here."

. . .

"Congratulations, Justin! Aren't you thrilled?" Daphne lowers the volume on the movie she's watching when Justin saunters into her bonus room five hours later. "She conked out halfway through Cinderella," she says, smiling down at Missy.

Justin sits with her on her sofa, their sleeping daughter stretched out between them. "Thanks. It's unbelievable, huh? How long have you known?"

"Since the fiasco with Matt. Brian asked me if I'd be okay with you two using the date and all the plans Emmett had made right after you guys kicked him out of here." Daphne smooths Missy's hair off of her face, careful not to wake her.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Justin says. Kicking back and getting comfortable, he hands Daphne the Pepsi he brought her from the kitchen. "Are you sure it doesn't bother you? I mean, that was going to be your big day. We've been planning your wedding for so long. I don't want to just hijack everything out from under you. Brian and I can get married on another date if-"

"Justin, really, it's okay. Just because Matt turned out to be a pile of crap doesn't mean all of Emmett's hard work has to be scrapped. The hall, the minister, the flowers . . . Oh, and the food! You and Brian might as well take advantage of the preparations. I think it's great."

Justin pats Missy on the back when she starts to toss and turn, the same way he has since the day she was born, hoping to lull her back to sleep. "Daphne, I wish it didn't have to end for you the way it did. But I guess it is pretty convenient if we use the date for us."

"And all the invitations I sent out are practically to the same people you'll want there," she giggles, "so that works out, too!"

Justin can tell she truly wants him to use the date for his own wedding. "It's okay, honey," he says to his restless three-year-old. "Go back to sleep. Mommy and I are just talking."

"Daddy." Missy crawls up into his lap, laying her head on his chest. "I watch Cinderella."

"I know you did. Mommy told me." Looking over at Daphne, Justin smiles. "You didn't return her flower girl dress, did you?"

"How dumb do I look? I am more than halfway through a premed degree, Justin!" Daphne's forehead wrinkles up, her eyes calling him on the most idiotic question he's asked her in a long time. "You can't get married without our little flower girl walking down the aisle!"

"Daddy get married?" Missy's head pops up, her curious brown eyes searching her father's for answers.

Justin and Daphne exchange grins. "Well, yes," he tells Missy, threading his fingers through her wavy sandy-colored hair. "Daddy's getting married . . . to Brian. You know that Brian and I love each other, right?"

"Uh huh. Bri loves Daddy." Missy rubs her sleepy eyes. "I the princess," she adds, lest anyone forget.

"How would you like to be our flower girl, just like you were going to be Mommy's flower girl?"

The frown that appears on Missy's face tugs at her parents' heartstrings. "I don't have flowers."

"You're going to carry a bouquet of flowers, sweetie," Daphne comes to the rescue. "Emmett's getting it ready for you. You're going to wear your pretty flower girl dress that's all made for you, and you're going to walk down the aisle in front of Daddy. You are gonna walk down the aisle, aren't you?" she asks Justin.

"Probably," he nods. "I'm not really sure how we're going to do it yet." At long last, he gets to the question he came looking for Daphne to ask. "Will you stand up for me? We won't call you a best man, I promise!"

"Oh, Justin! I'd be honored to be your best man. Let's call me the best friend!" Daphne leans over Missy, kissing him on the cheek. "What should I wear?" she tacks on, the contrived afterthought just itching to escape.

"Don't tell me you haven't got something to wear all planned out already. I know you, Daphne!" Grabbing the can of Pepsi from the coffee table where she'd set it down, he finishes it off and confronts her with a huge grin plastered across his face. "I'm sure that's the first detail you thought of when Brian asked you about the date."

"Well, I may have scrounged something up after I heard about his idea! You want to see it?" Halfway into her bedroom with the disclosure, she bounds into her walk-in closet. "You're gonna love it!" she calls over her shoulder. "Emmett helped me find it!"

"Have you seen it?" Justin asks Missy, still settled snugly in his lap. He begins to understand just how much preparation has been going into his wedding by the people who mean the most to him when she shakes her head up and down.

Reappearing in front of them, Daphne holds up a gorgeous satin sheath in her favorite shade of mauve and matching satin pumps. "What do you think? You like?"

"Yeah, it's really beautiful. I can just see you in it. Isn't that the same color as the trim on Missy's dress?"

"What do you think a wedding planner does, Justin? Yes, it's the same color as Missy's trim. Daddy's silly, isn't he?" she says to Missy.

"Come on! No fair!" Justin laughs. "No ganging up on Daddy!"

"Ganging up on Daddy? Where do I sign up?" Brian wanders in, bedhead and all, eager to join the playful banter.

"Hey, I thought you were out for the night," Justin says. "You were snoring when I got up to get a drink."

"I don't snore," Brian predictably replies. "What's the princess doing up so late?" He takes Missy from Justin when she holds her arms up toward him. "Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asks her, kissing the top of her head.

"I not tired." She hugs Brian around the neck. "I the flower girl."

"Missy, you know what?" Daphne asks after rehanging her dress. "When Brian and Daddy get married, he'll be your daddy, too. What do you think about that?"

Justin and Brian do their eye thing, Justin easily picking up on the apprehension that seems to have enveloped his partner. He knows it's unfounded, just as he knows what it's all about. Brian will be absolutely crushed if Missy somehow isn't on board with the plan. Justin observes the insecurity hovering momentarily on his face while he waits for the acceptance and approval of the little girl in his arms.

"Two daddies," Missy mumbles in the middle of a gaping yawn, unable to keep her head off of Brian's shoulder or her eyes open.

"Two daddies," Brian finally exhales, affectionately patting her back.

Daphne smiles at them warmly, the family unit the four of them have melded into soon to be recognized by everyone. She hugs Justin when he gets up from the sofa and kisses her forehead.

"Thank you, Daph," he says. "We love you, don't we, Brian?"

"Of course, we love you," Brian confirms. "Who else would selflessly give us her day? And her wedding planner? And share her irresistible daughter with me?" He hugs her with one hand, holding the sleeping princess with the other.

"Missy loves you," Daphne tells him. "You've helped us raise her since she was a baby. Justin and I have always said she thinks she has three parents. Now she really will."

"Okay, Dad," Justin grins. "Let's put her to bed. We've got to work tomorrow, and Daphne's got her early class. It's really late."

"Yes, dear," Brian squeaks affectedly. His voice returns to normal when he adds, "How often do I get engaged? I can be tired tomorrow."

"Good night, you guys," Daphne laughs. "And congratulations again."

"See you in the morning," Justin says, following Brian out of her suite and down the hallway into Missy's bedroom.

"She's getting awfully heavy," Brian whispers, Justin turning down the canopy bed he'd bought for Missy when she'd no longer needed the guard rails on her old bed. "What are you feeding her during the day?"

"You're the one who takes her out of day care and feeds her cookies in your office."

"Busted." Brian takes Justin's hand on the way back to their wing.

. . .

"Hey, Mikey! How's it going? I brought you some lemon bars from the diner." Brian sweeps into Red Cape Comics in downtown Pittsburgh, making himself right at home. "Your mom says if you don't call her soon, she's gonna track you down and slap you upside the head."

"Thanks, Brian." Michael takes the pastry box, setting it down it on his counter. "Everything all right?" He kisses him on the lips out of habit, Brian hugging his best friend extra tightly.

"Couldn't be better. I've got big news! I think you should sit down."

"Oh, fuck! What happened? Justin sold a painting for a million bucks? You guys gonna retire in the south of France?" Michael pops a lemon bar into his mouth, licking his fingers.

"Michael, I'm serious. Let's sit down." Brian drapes his suit jacket over the back of a stool and sits. He'd taken his lunch hour to eat a quick turkey sandwich at the diner, squeezing in a very special visit to Michael's store to make his big announcement. "Emmett hasn't spilled his guts out to you and Ted yet? I thought you would have heard by now."

Michael grabs two bottles of water out of the fridge on the back wall, handing one to Brian. "Em's hardly been around the last two weeks. Keeps saying he's planning a wedding every second he's not working at Torso."

"Yeah, about that wedding," Brian starts. "How would you like to be my best man?" The words sound as unbelievable to him as they do to Michael, a wide smile covering his face. "I asked Justin to marry me last night. He's going to be my husband."

Michael cracks up at the absurdity of such a notion. "It's not April Fool's Day, is it? Last time I looked at the calendar, it was June. There's no fucking way you're getting married. What is it you really came to tell me?" He stops laughing when Brian doesn't join in. "Brian?"

"It's true. We're going to use the date that was for Daphne's wedding. That's what Emmett's been working on in secrecy for the last two weeks. I just wanted to make sure Justin said yes before the word got out." Taking a big gulp of his water, Brian chuckles slightly. "After some creative defining of the term marriage, he finally said yes!"

Michael's disbelief is apparent in his jaw, which has dropped two feet in front of him. "Jesus, Brian! I knew you guys were having the time of your lives out there in your suburban mansion - but marriage? That's a big step!"

"I love him, Michael." Brian's lips press together briefly, his trademark gesture signifying his honesty. "I don't want to ever live without him. So . . . you haven't answered me yet. Are you gonna stand up for me in ten days when I tie the knot? You're my best friend. I wouldn't want anyone else to do it."

"Sure, I'll be your best man. Ten days? Shit! What am I going to wear?"

"Emmett's got it under control. He has a real knack for this stuff. You're gonna look so handsome in your Armani suit with the mauve pocket square." Brian checks the time, hoping to make one more stop on his way back to the office.

"Mauve pocket square? Fuck! Sounds like he's going nuts with this!" Michael nods to a customer who's just come in.

"It's to complement Daphne's dress. She's standing up for Justin. Don't worry. All the clothes have received my stamp of approval. Everything's very classy." Brian stands up, folding his jacket over his arm. "I gotta run, Mikey. Emmett can fill you in on all the details. I'll see you Friday night at Woody's."

"Right. Friday night at Woody's." Michael leans over the counter, kissing Brian good-bye. "I love you," he doesn't forget to say.

"Me, too. Always have. Always will."

. . .

"Brian! What are you doing here?" Emmett looks up when the bells on Torso's door jangle. "I thought you said we couldn't be seen together until . . . OH, MY GOD! He said yes? When did you ask him? Was it so romantic? Dish!" Abandoning his shirt-folding task for the display table, he claps his hands together - Emmett-style.

Brian can't help beaming when he says, "Yeah, he said yes. I asked him last night, and he only made me chew off one fingernail while waiting for his answer. Is everything all set? How many more preparations have to be made?"

"Not one thing, Brian. Everything's running smoothly and right on schedule. Do you want to see Michael's suit? Oh! What about Michael? Does he know yet?"

"I just left his store. He said he'd stand up. You've got his suit?"

Emmett hurries into the back of Torso. "It just arrived yesterday. It's beautiful." Emerging with a sharp-looking gray Armani suit in Michael's size, he holds it near Brian for his inspection.

"Nice," Brian purrs, the feel of expensive clothing exciting him, as always. "Now I wish I would have gone with Armani for Justin and me. Fuck!"

"Brian, are you kidding?" Emmett's voice raises a few notches. "The Versace is perfect for you and Justin. But . . . if you want me to start looking for . . ."

"No, we'll keep the Versace. Emmett?"

"Uh huh?" He hangs Michael's suit behind the cash register.

"Thank you for keeping mum. I was sure you'd crack under the pressure and blab everything to Michael and Ted. Remember what I said about launching your own wedding planning business?"

Emmett hasn't dared to think Brian actually could have been serious about his offer to set him up in business. "Yes, I remember. But you were just so excited about substituting you and Justin for Daphne and Matt. I didn't think - "

"I meant it. Would you want to give your notice here at Torso and become a full-time wedding planner? I'm impressed with your ability to get things done and your eye for detail. I keep telling you you're really good at this shit."

Emmett's conspicuously humbled. "Brian, I'd give my notice here at Torso tomorrow if I thought - "

"Good. Then it's settled. Now that I've bought out Ryder and own the advertising firm outright, I'm going to have all the offices on the north side of the building cleared for you to use as your base of operations. That saves me overhead. And we'll do all the promotion to get you off the ground. All you need is a few clients, and you're set."

Emmett digests the last five minutes of conversation when Brian's cell phone rings in his pocket, listening to him make his dinner plans with Justin.

"Where were we?" Brian asks, snapping his phone shut. "Oh, yeah. Why don't you come by the office tomorrow? We'll discuss the terms of my silent partnership. Emmett? Those aren't tears, are they?"

"Of course, not," Emmett sniffles. "Brian, I can never thank you enough. This means so much to me!"

Brian checks the time again. Those layouts aren't going to approve themselves. "I'm a businessman, Emmett. I'm making an investment. After everything you've done for Justin and me to make the most important day of our lives memorable . . . I told you. I don't have bad ideas."

. . .

NINE DAYS LATER

Justin laughs to himself when Missy asks for the hundredth time what exactly she'll have to do the following day. She drops her little paint brush into the tray he'd attached to her child-sized easel, looking up at him with wide-eyed concern.

"We've told you. You'll walk in front of Brian and me down the aisle, holding your bouquet of flowers," he explains. "Mommy and Michael will be at the front of the hall, and you'll just walk toward them. When you get to the front of all the chairs, you'll sit with Grandma Jen, Aunt Molly, Grandma Dorothy, and Grandpa Roy. Then all you have to do is be quiet while the minister talks. It'll be over before you know it, and then the big party will start." Studying her painting, Justin tries to decipher what it is. "That's a pretty red you've used right there," he says, pointing to a particularly pleasing blob in the bottom corner. "So what do you think about tomorrow?"

"I like red."

"Wait a minute," he warns, Missy tugging at her smock. "Remember, you have to rinse out your brush if you're finished painting for today." Raising his index finger, he says, "Hold on. I'll help you," while reaching for the ringing phone on his work table.

"Hey. What are you doing?"

"Painting with Missy."

"Why don't you come down to Woody's about six o'clock?"

"You sure? This is the last Friday night you'll get to hang with Michael as a single man. You really want me there?" Justin smiles into his phone, thinking of the way Brian had cut his after-work trips to Woody's with Michael down to one night a week a few months after they'd fallen in love. He doesn't want him to halt the Friday night ritual just because they're getting married.

"I'm sure. Michael just called me. He's getting ahold of the whole gang, arranging for them to meet us there after work for a sort of impromptu bachelor party."

"Well, I guess I can't miss our bachelor party. Brian?"

"Um hmm?"

"Are you nervous? About tomorrow?"

"No. Are you?"

"No. But Missy's jittery enough for both of us!"

"She's still worried about her walk down the aisle?"

"Uh huh. I just explained it to her . . . again," Justin laughs. "Okay, I'll meet you at Woody's."

"See you then."

"Later."

. . .

Brian pulls the classic early '70's Corvette he'd purchased shortly after buying out Ryder into a parking space in Woody's lot, scanning for Justin's Explorer. When he doesn't see it, he uses the time to shed his jacket and tie, rolling up his shirt sleeves in anticipation. Checking his flawless appearance in the rearview mirror, an automatic grin spreads across his face when he catches sight of what he'd been waiting for. He's out of the Vette and into the SUV before Justin has a chance to cut the engine.

"Miss me?" Justin asks, his eyes sparkling.

"Kiss me," Brian demands, leaning all over his fiancé. Fingers running through Justin's long yellow hair, his tongue pushes between his lips, swabbing the inside of his mouth thoroughly. Belt buckles and zippers undone simultaneously, groping, loving hands take over. "No underwear! Thank you! I've gotta fuck you, Justin!" Opening the glove compartment, Brian grabs the bottle of lube and a handful of paper towels, pulling Justin's jeans down to his ankles. They've learned to always be prepared.

"Jesus, Brian! You're so hard!" Justin's fist works rapidly up and down Brian's shaft. "You didn't jerk off today, did you?"

"No time. Scoot up." Brian slathers the crack of Justin's ass with lube, Justin kneeling on the seat sporting his own stiff dick. Gently sucking the pre-cum from it, he works two fingers into his ass to open him up. "Tight. Mine. Justin . . ." His idle words float around the inside of the car when he stops sucking, exciting both of them into a near-frenzied state as Justin's writhing ass and escalating heartbeat shout his need to get fucked. Immediately. "Turn around," Brian whispers.

Justin lifts himself up, plunging onto Brian's cock over and over, his asshole clenching it on every downward slide. His prostate vibrates with sensation, Brian's hands on his hips rocking him back and forth. Palming his throbbing erection, he strokes it with the same rhythm.

"You're still so tight, Justin," Brian pants into his ear. "I'm gonna come inside your tight little hole."

"God! Fuck! Aahh!" Justin comes first, his dick flooding his fist with a hot torrent. "Brian!" Breathlessly stopping all movement, he feels Brian's cock unleashing inside of him and his arms wrapping around his chest, holding him tightly. Gasping for air, he relaxes his head backward onto Brian's shoulder. "That was . . ." He grasps for a term to describe just what it was.

"Fucking hot!" Brian fills in the blank, nuzzling the side of his neck, licking and sucking soon following.

"Brian?" Justin whispers.

"Mmm?"

"After we're married, will you still . . . fuck me in the car every chance you get?"

"That depends." Brian puts quite a lot of thought into his answer. "Will you still . . . blow me first thing every morning and last thing every night?"

"I don't see that ever changing." Justin carefully pries himself off of Brian's dick, using the paper towels to clean up.

Tucking themselves back into their pants, they spend the first twenty minutes of their bachelor party necking in Justin's car.

. . .

Brian's roused from his morning dreams by Justin's warm tongue softly lapping between his ass cheeks, tickling the outer edges of his hole. Groaning with pleasure, he gradually stirs, parting his legs wider and pushing himself backward. "I was dreaming that today was our wedding day," he mumbles lazily with still-closed eyes, "and you were gently licking my ass, bathing it with wetness before you fucked me awake."

"My mission in life is to make your dreams come true," Justin avows, "especially on our wedding day!" He aligns the pulsing head of his cock with Brian's hole, Brian raising his ass in the air and hugging his pillow under his chest. "So fucking hot inside," he whispers into his ear, working his granite-like shaft all the way into his asshole. Fucking him with a slow, steady pace that makes both of them crazy to come, he jams his cock into Brian's prostate over and over, shouting out loud on the last inward slam. Justin pumps all of his come into Brian's ass, mentally recording the vivid colors darting around behind his closed eyes for later reproduction onto a canvas. "Jesus, Brian! I love fucking you in the morning!" he exclaims, collapsing on top of his back.

"Good thing that's your job."

Laughing together playfully, Justin covers Brian's back and shoulders with tender kisses. "Brian?" he soon asks. "Remember all the condoms we went through during the first year?"

"Yeah. I hear Trojan went out of business when we started fucking raw. What made you think of condoms?"

"I don't know. I guess because every time I slide my bare cock inside you, I fall a little more in love with you. I just wanted to tell you that." Justin rolls off of Brian and lies on his pillow with him, peering deeply into his eyes.

Brian's heart thumps wildly in his chest. He still can't believe Justin is his, they'll be married before the end of the day, and how this passionate love consumes him, never to leave. "The first time I fucked you without a condom, I cried," he whispers his secret confession into Justin's ear, clutching him fast against his beating heart.

"You'd never looked more beautiful to me."

Brian's quiet, corralling his emotions into a manageable lot. "I love you, Justin," he finally murmurs, pulling himself together.

Gripping Brian's hard, oozing dick between them, Justin jerks him slowly, kissing his lips. When his mouth replaces his hand, Brian gasps aloud, caressing the back of his head. Before long, he's sucking Brian's come out of him, drinking it down hungrily. "We better get up," he warns after a momentary lull. "We have a wedding to get to!"

. . .

"Missy, come on! Hold still. Let me buckle your shoe." Daphne crouches near her daughter's foot, trying not to wrinkle her dress. "There's Emmett with your bouquet," she whispers. "Remember to say thank you."

"Well, aren't you the prettiest flower girl I've ever seen?" He rushes up to Missy and Daphne. "Daphne, mauve is your color!"

"Thank you," Missy parrots her mom when Emmett hands her the all-important prop.

"Ten minutes till showtime!" he reminds them before flitting off to perform the next item on his checklist, determined to have this wedding come off without a hitch.

"Please be good for Daddy and Brian," Daphne tells Missy, tucking an errant curl into her ponytail. "I've got to get up to the front of the hall."

"I be good."

"Justin, you look so cool in that suit and tie!" Daph hugs him tightly around the neck on her way out of the dressing room. "You know what it reminds me of?"

"St. fucking James!" they laugh out at the same time. Kissing the top of Missy's head, Daphne hurries toward the door.

"Oh, shit! The rings!" Brian produces the velvet boxes from the inside pocket of his jacket. "Emmett! Can you get these up to Michael? I forgot to give them to him!"

Appearing at Brian's side, Em does his level best to stay calm. "Daphne's going. She can take them. Let me catch her . . . Daphne?!"

"Is it too late for me to have a quick smoke?" Brian asks Justin, the look on Justin's face squelching that idea.

"The minister's taking his place," Emmett announces. "Let's have a wedding!" Holding Missy's hand, he leads her to the door of the dressing room. "Brian? Justin? Let's go! You both look dashing!"

Peeling themselves away from the three-paneled mirror, the Versace-clad grooms finally quit primping. Brian crooks his arm for Justin to slip his hand through, their telling eyes and expressions conveying all that's unsaid. Following Emmett and Missy to the back of the golden gardenia-scented hall, neither is more sure of any decision he's ever made.

"Daddy?" Missy's little voice pierces the quiet.

"What?" Justin and Brian answer her together.

"I the flower girl!" She holds up her bouquet for them to see, just in case either of them has missed it.

"Aww . . ." A low rumble of subdued laughter reverberates from around the hall. "Isn't she cute? Aren't they handsome? Everything's so gorgeous! and It's all so romantic!" can be heard from various points throughout the seated guests. Other than Molly rising to physically collect Missy when she can't quite remember what to do after her long walk down the aisle in front of her daddies, the marriage of Mr. Brian Kinney and Mr. Justin Taylor begins beautifully.

As previously decided, the short ceremony consists of the reciting of vows, the exchanging of rings, and the minister's happy pronouncement that Brian and Justin are now man and . . . man. The sloppy kiss that follows elicits cheers and applause from their guests, including Debbie's distinct approval, which starts out as a polite cackle and quickly evolves into a robust cat call. Brian presses his lips together at the end of the kiss, gently combing Justin's hair out of his eyes with his fingertips. Naturally, Justin feels himself blush.

Within fifteen minutes of their stroll down the aisle, they walk arm in arm through a rainfall of confetti, leading the migration from the ceremony site into the reception hall next door. More or less mobbed by group after group of hugging well-wishers, the newlyweds stand with their arms wrapped around the other's waist, accepting an endless outpouring of congratulations from family and friends.

Emmett oversees the wait staff's serving of champagne and hors d'oeuvres and then gives the live DJ the order to start spinning records. Unplanned is the first dance of the grooms with their mothers, but Emmett orchestrates it on the spot, nudging first Jennifer and then Debbie to get out there on the floor with their sons.

When Justin finally makes it back into Brian's arms in the middle of the parquet dance floor, he knows as well as he knows his own name the first thing Brian will utter into his ear.

"I need to fuck you. You look really hot."

Well, fifty percent of it, anyway! "Brian, this is our wedding reception. We're the guests of honor."

"So?"

"Point taken."

As the dance floor begins to fill with couples and small groups, Brian nonchalantly leads his husband off to the nearest men's room, their partying guests tactfully feigning ignorance of their disappearance.

Only Missy sees fit to state the obvious. "Where my daddies?" She asks Daphne after about ten minutes.

"Daddies?" Daphne stalls. "Um, they had to go get more ice."

"Ice?" Michael mouths to her, giving life to the 'what the fuck?' looks being cast by everyone within earshot.

Daphne shrugs, making a kooky face. "What? She caught me off guard!" she mouths back.

. . .

"You brought lube to our wedding?!"

"I was horny when we left the house." Brian returns the travel-size bottle to his jacket pocket, pinning Justin face first against the wall in the last stall of the men's room in the swanky, appropriately named Rainbow Gardens Wedding and Reception Hall. Touting itself as hosting many a diverse union in the Southern Hills area, they make sure to christen it with their own special brand of diversity.

With suit pants lowered just below their hips, Brian's palms cover the back of Justin's hands on the wall above their heads. The silver wedding bands on their left ring fingers tap together intermittently, Justin whispering, "Fuck me, Brian!" over and over.

. . .

TWO YEARS LATER

"Brian, Missy's school is on line two."

"Thanks, Cynthia." Brian sets the latest contraption he's supposed to be selling down on his desk, frowning at it. "Can you get ahold of these people and find out what the fuck this thing does? Brian Kinney," he says, pressing line two.

"Hello, Mr. Kinney," the secretary at Southern Hills Elementary School starts. "Neither of Melissa's parents was available, and I see you're listed as - "

"Justin and Daphne are out of town. Is Missy all right?"

"Well, she's gotten into some trouble on the playground again. Mrs. Connelly sent her to the principal's office, and Mr. Samson wants her to take the rest of the day off to calm down. Can you come to pick her up?"

Brian paces in front of the window in his office. "Are you telling me that my daughter is being suspended from kindergarten because of a scuffle on the playground, Miss . . .? What did you say your name was? What kind of a school are you running over there?"

"I'm only Mr. Samson's secretary, Mr. Kinney. As for the suspension policies, if you'll refer to the handbook that was mailed out on - "

"Save it. I'm on my way. Tell Missy to sit tight." Flipping the speaker phone off, Brian grabs his jacket from the hook in back of his desk. He didn't have anything better to do that afternoon anyway, he muses, than to speak to the principal of Southern Hills.

"Hold the fort down," he advises Cynthia. "Missy's in tr -"

"I heard. The speaker phone's pretty loud. Don't say something you'll regret later." Cynthia brushes a puff of lint from Brian's shirt, sending him off into the wilds of elementary education.

. . .

"I'm Brian Kinney. I was called to come and get Melissa Taylor," Brian reports to the first official-looking person he sees when he enters the office of Southern Hills Elementary.

"Dad!" Missy jumps off the bench where she's sat stewing for the better part of half an hour, running over to Brian the minute she sees him. "It wasn't my fault! David and Bobby were calling you and Daddy faggots again, and I'm just so tired of it. They had it coming! I can't help it if they're wimps!"

"Whoa! Slow down. What happened?" Brian bends to hug Missy, Mr. Samson appearing in his outer office.

"Mr. Kinney? If you and Melissa will come in and sit down," the principal says, ushering the unruly student and her dad into his private quarters. "I'm sorry to involve you in this matter, but Melissa's natural parents couldn't be reached, and I guess you are . . ."

"I legally adopted Missy two years ago when I married her father. I'm her other father. What's going on, Mr. Samson?" Sitting in front of the principal's desk, Brian tells Missy to sit in the adjacent chair.

"I'm afraid we can't tolerate physical violence of any kind on this campus. When Melissa resorted to kicking and punching two other students on the playground, we had to step in and take action. I hope you understand." Mr. Samson glares at Missy sternly before he continues. "I think if she goes home today, we can resume again tomorrow with a clean slate. Assuming she understands that she can't . . ."

"Stand up for herself? Defend her fathers to name-calling classmates?" Remembering Cynthia's admonishment, Brian stops himself right there.

"Well, you have to admit, having two fathers is . . . rare. Most children don't understand. The boys involved were only . . ." Mr. Samson seems to be having a hard time explaining his position.

"Repeating the hateful expressions they've learned at home? Harassing my daughter unnecessarily?" Brian stands, holding his hand out toward Missy and helping her down from the adult-sized chair she'd sunk into. "I'll take Missy home now. Justin, Daphne, and I will decide if she'll be returning to your . . . campus," he goes with for the sake of Missy's five-year-old ears.

Mr. Samson stands, too, shuffling some papers around on his desk. "Melissa's a brilliant student, Mr. Kinney. We'd hate to lose her. I didn't mean to suggest that we can't try to curb the . . . uh . . ."

"Homophobic taunting that spills from the mouths of children these days? We'll be in touch." Brian leads Missy out, but not before she shoots her principal a look that can only come from a child who's loved, nurtured, and understood at home.

. . .

"So how much trouble am I in?" Missy asks, Brian leaning across her to buckle her seat belt.

"Did you try to talk to them first?"

"Yeah! I explained it very nicely a lot of times, just like you and Daddy told me to. They just wouldn't shut up! Bobby Miller is so gross. I hate him!"

Brian suppresses a prideful grin, walking around to the driver's side. "I think we're going to visit Aunt Molly," he says, pulling out of the parking lot. "What time is it?"

Missy studies the Hannah Montana wristwatch they'd gotten her three months earlier when she'd learned how to tell time. "Two-thirty. Are you gonna tell Mommy and Daddy?" She kicks her legs idly, coiling a lock of her long hair around her fingers.

"Sure," he nods. "We're going to have to tell them. You know it's never okay to kick and punch. But you're not in trouble for refusing to be talked to like that or for defending our family."

"I'm hungry, Dad."

"I bet Grandma Jen has something good for us to eat. I'm kind of hungry, too!"

. . .

Fifteen-year-old Molly Taylor looks out of her bedroom window when she hears Brian's Corvette pull into the driveway. "Oh, here comes my brother-in-law and my niece," she tells her friend on the phone. "I'll call you back later, Allie."

"Hey, Mollusk. How's it going?" Brian gives her a peck on the forehead. "Missy and I thought we'd come over to say hi. Mother Taylor home?"

"Not yet," Molly shakes her head. "She had to show a house at two. Are Justin and Daphne still in New York?"

"They'll be back tonight." Brian catches Missy when she tries to make a mad dash into the den where the video games are, telling her to sit down with them in the living room. He gets comfortable in the corner easy chair as she climbs onto the sofa next to Molly. "Daphne decided to stay at Pitt Med," he goes on, "but they said Columbia's tour was awesome."

"That's good," Molly sighs, smoothing Missy's hair out of her eyes and starting to braid it. "Mom's been freaking out about you guys moving to New York if she chose Columbia."

"Missy ran into a problem at school today. Why don't you tell Aunt Molly what happened?"

"These icky boys in my class. They tease me all the time. I hate 'em!"

"Icky boys?" Molly laughs. "What do they tease you about?"

"Daddy and Dad." Missy folds her arms across her chest in a huff.

"Oh, that kind of teasing." Molly nods at Brian, finally getting why he brought Missy over. "The boys used to tease me, too. I think I was in fifth grade. Even some of the girls did it. I didn't like it either."

"Did you have a daddy and a dad, too?" Missy wonders.

Molly laughs again. "No. But your daddy is my brother, remember? When the kids in my class found out Justin was gay, some of them said mean things to me."

"Did you kick them?"

Molly looks back over in mock horror at Brian, who's nodding up and down and trying again not to smile. "Missy, you can't kick them! You have to talk to them," she tells her niece.

"Yeah, after I punched them, I shoulda left them there crying. Can I see my braid now?"

Taking a little mirror out of her purse on the table, Molly hands it to Missy. "I bet you got in trouble with your teacher for physical violence, huh? Schools don't like that very much."

"They called Dad. I had to go home."

Molly hugs Missy's shoulders. "The next time you get teased about it, tell the teacher which kids are doing it. Usually, they'll get in trouble for using slurs."

"Slurs?"

"The bad words - like faggot. The boys in my class got extra homework for saying that word."

Missy's eyes light up at the thought of the icky boys getting extra homework. "Grandma!" she yells when Jennifer opens the door. "Aunt Molly braided my hair!"

"Hi, honey." Jennifer picks her up, hugging her tightly. "I'm so happy to see you. Hi, Brian," she says to her son-in-law.

"Sell the house?" Brian asks, standing up to give her a kiss.

"I hope so. They liked it a lot. You two are staying for dinner, right?"

"Yeah!" Missy answers. "Me and Dad are really hungry!"

"Dad and I," Brian corrects her. "We need to get to the airport by seven to pick up Justin and Daphne, but I guess we can stay if you want us to."

"Can you make us macaroni and cheese, Grandma? Please?"

"I sure can." Jennifer puts her granddaughter down, turning back toward Brian with a worried look on her face. "If Daphne chooses Columbia Med School, will all of you be moving to New York?"

"Oh, no. Don't worry," Brian assures her. "She's staying here at Pitt Med. She just wanted to take Columbia's tour because no one gets to unless they have the GPA to apply. With her 3.8, she got invited, and Justin went with her to check in with a few of the galleries there that do business with him."

Jennifer smiles in relief. "Just let me change," she says. "Then we can eat."

. . .

"Hey! How was your flight?" Brian takes Daphne's carry-on bag from Justin's shoulder and leaves him with just his own messenger bag, pulling him close. Forty-eight hours has never felt like such an eternity.

"It was pretty good," Daphne says, refreshed from her nap.

"That's because you slept with your head on my shoulder the whole time!" Justin cracks. "Hey," he says to Brian, looking into his husband's eyes. "I missed you the last two nights."

Daphne hugs Missy and then searches in her purse for her lip gloss and a stick of gum while Brian and Justin get reacquainted. She coats her lips and discards the gum wrapper in the nearest trash can before they finish. "Come on, you guys!" she laughs, deciding they've had long enough.

Justin hoists Missy up into his arms, kissing the tip of her nose. "It's getting late for you to be out," he tells her. "It's a school night."

Brian plants a quick kiss on Daph's cheek and throws his arm around Justin's shoulders as the four of them head to baggage claim. "Maybe not."

"What?" Justin and Daphne pipe up together, both casting strange glances at Brian.

. . .

"Mrs. Connelly is a very good teacher. We need to keep that in mind." Justin's tired, yet he tries to think with a clear head on the way home from the airport. He rubs his forehead in the passenger side of his Explorer, Brian changing lanes on the freeway.

"Missy likes her," Daphne says from the back seat, "but she does gripe about those boys all the time."

Strapped in beside her mom, Missy listens to her parents discuss the day's events. Growing increasingly drowsy, she knows better than to interrupt them with any opinion she might have. Their word will be final, and she'll be told of the decision when it's made.

"I think Molly made a dent," Brian adds. "Missy will probably think twice before she beats them up again." His smile returns, not stifled this time as he glimpses into the rearview mirror to find Missy's nodded off to sleep.

"I had her reading before she went to kindergarten," Justin goes on, "but Mrs. Connelly has gotten her into the third grade reader. We'll keep her at Southern Hills for now. We can always reconsider if the situation becomes worse." Turning around, he takes stock of his feisty daughter, ringlets twisting down the sides of her face in slumber. He sees equal parts of himself and her mother, yet he's in awe of her individuality. "Remember when we used to sit for hours with our hands on your belly," he reminisces to Daph, "just waiting for her to kick?"

"We were so young," Daphne recalls. "We had no clue what we were in for."

"And what we didn't know, we learned in a hurry!" Justin laughs.

Brian sighs contentedly, his eyes firmly fixed on the evening traffic. "You guys did a great job. She knows she's loved."

"It was easy," Justin beams. His boastful mood is infectious, he sees, Brian and Daphne sprouting proud grins of their own. "We happened to get the best little girl in the world."

THE END


End file.
